Challenges
by NancyMay
Summary: The stories in this stream are a result of challenges to my English students. They are required to write a story using the words in their weekly spelling list. The list will be at the top of the story. I encourage my pupils by attempting the same challenge. I hope you enjoy. All will be rated K as the pupils are 11 years or less.
1. Chapter 1

Words required:

aggressive, bruise, community, disastrous, excellent, foreign, government. identity, marvellous, nuisance, persuade, recommend, shoulder, thorough, vehicle, according, develop, occur, queue, suggest

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'What a nuisance!' Jean cried, as she saw the length of the queue. Matthew had managed to persuade her darling husband that he should take her away for at least a month. Not that she minded being treated to a holiday, they hadn't had one since they got married, but it meant that he needed his passport updating for a foreign trip, to prove his identity to any government official at the borders. Her passport was new, Lucien had insisted she get one when they married, but as yet she had not had chance to use it. Of course her beloved thought it was a marvellous idea.

As she stood in the queue another customer knocked her leg which left an aggressive bruise on her shin. Suddenly, there was a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Alice smiling.

'What are you doing here?' Jean asked, delighted to see a friend. Today had been disastrous all round so it was nice to see a smiling face.

'Oh, I come here all the time.' Alice quipped, 'Actually, I need a list of community officials. Lucien has had a run in with Patrick again, they had a thorough set to in the morgue, so I thought I'd beat a hasty retreat and leave them to it. It looked like it was likely to develop into fisticuffs!'

'An excellent idea, my dear doctor, but I do hope they simmer down,' Jean grinned, 'may I suggest that when we've finished here we go and have a cuppa.'

When they had finally finished their business in the post office they managed to find a seat in a nearby cafe.

Deciding to have a bite to eat at the same time, Jean scanned the menu,

'Oh good,' she said, 'I recommend the scones, they're rather good here.' Jean was fussy about her scones, they had to be just so, before she would eat them.

'Sounds good to me.' Alice agreed. 'I hear Lucien wants to take you on a tour of Europe.'

'That's his plan.' Jean was looking forward to it, she hadn't been further than Adelaide, before. It did occur to her, when he started to make the plans that she really was a novice when it came to travel. According to him, England in November would be chilly so he advised her to take her winter coat.

'Did you hear that Edward had been caught speeding again?' Alice asked, Edward Tyneman was well known for exceeding the speed limit in town.

'That boy should not be allowed behind the wheel of a vehicle.' Jean sounded annoyed, 'you know he wrote his first car off, racing down towards the farm I used to live on, don't you?'

'Really.' Alice sipped her tea, 'well I'm not surprised. That's what Lucien and Patrick were arguing about. Lucien said Edward would hurt, or even kill someone one day.'

'Tactful as ever.' Jean sighed. She was just offering Alice a second cup of tea when the roar of a car engine cut through the chatter in the cafe.

'Really!' She huffed, 'boys.'

The noise came got louder as the car came further down the street. Tucked in a corner Jean couldn't see too well, but Alice had a good view...of the front of a car heading straight towards the cafe.

'Move!' She shouted, reaching over the table and grabbing Jean, pulling her down onto the floor, under the table. Just as they hit the ground there was a tremendous crash and splintering of glass. There were screams and cries, bodies were flung towards the counter, then a deafening silence, punctuated with sobs, and sniffs.

Jean was pinned under Alice, who in turn was pinned under a table that the car had pushed against the wall. They lay there together, feeling each other breathing, shaking and shocked.

'Jean?' Alice spoke quietly, 'Jean, can you hear me?'

'Yes,' Jean's voice was muffled against the pathologist's shoulder.

'I'm sorry if I'm squashing you, I think there's a table pushing me down.' Alice whispered.

'S'alright.' Jean felt comforted by the warmth of her friend. 'Are you hurt?'

'Don't think so.' Alice didn't want to worry Jean, but she could feel something warm and wet on her side. She thought one of them was cut by flying glass, she had no pain, but that didn't mean it was Jean who was bleeding.

'Are you?' She better check before she tried to move.

'No, I don't think so.'

'Good.' Alice tried to sound confident. 'I'm going to try and heave this table off me.'

The sound of distant sirens could be heard, which was a relief. The police and fire brigade were now on their way, help would soon be here. Alice pushed back with her bottom but the movement made her gasp. It was her that was bleeding, a sharp searing pain went through her lower ribs as a shard of glass moved with her.

'Jean,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry, we're going to have to wait. I think something's caught me.'

'Alice?' Jean tried to move her head to look at her. 'Alice, I'm going to shout for help. I'm sorry if I hurt your ears.'

'Okay.' Alice was beginning to feel light-headed, Jean's voice seemed a million miles away, somewhere down a tunnel.

'Can I get some help here, please!' Jean shouted, 'Dr Harvey is hurt.'

The sound of people moving furniture, talking, ordering stretchers, medics. Dimly, she thought she heard Lucien's voice, 'Oh please,' she whispered to herself, then shouted louder, 'Lucien!' Alice had stopped moving and did not stir when Jean shouted.

'Please don't let her be dead.' Jean prayed harder than she had for a long time, knowing that Alice may well have saved her life, but endangered her own.

'Jean, Jean!' She could hear Lucien calling.

'Under the corner table!' She shouted back, 'Lucien, it's Alice, she's...'

'Quick!' Lucien grabbed a firey, 'help me here.'

Between them they carefully and slowly lifted the table. Lucien could just see his wife's head under Alice's shoulder. Alice was lying over her, shielding her from harm, but the sight of Alice made him gasp. There was an enormous blood stain on her side, and a pool under her. At the rate she was bleeding, she would die of blood loss before he could even start to treat her.

'Jean, are you hurt?' He asked quickly.

'No, just squashed.' Jean grunted.

'Right, we need a stretcher over here,' he started to examine his colleague, finding a thin sliver of glass sticking out from under her rib cage. 'Give me a large wound pad and a wide bandage.' He held out his hand to receive the supplies. he wrapped the wound pad round the base of the glass and then wrapped the bandage round Alice's body, trying to stem the flow of blood. He daren't jolt her so he and two ambos lifted her, in the same position, onto the stretcher.

A quick look at Jean assured him she was unhurt, just shocked.

'Jean...' He looked at her. 'I...'

'Go and see to Alice.' She leant up and kissed him quickly. 'I'm sure I can help here.'

'I love you.' He quickly breathed into her ear and left with the ambos, this was one he was taking responsibility for, Alice was his friend.

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Even Lucien was invoking the help of the Almighty while in the ambulance. He managed to get an intravenous line into Alice before her veins started to collapse and set up a saline drip. He would need to get her straight into theatre and start transfusions. He needed her blood type so he asked the ambos to get the hospital to ring Dr King, her GP, and get the information, urgently.

Once in the hospital they hurried straight to the theatre suite, Lucien barking orders for a nurse, scrubs, anaesthetist, though he'd forgo the last one, she was unconscious anyway. Field surgery was called for, or he'd lose her.

Sister Lambert appeared. She liked Dr Blake, he was an excellent surgeon, and she was more than happy to work with him. She had set up the theatre when the call had come through and there were several pints of blood ready for Alice. She was scrubbed up so while Lucien hastily got ready she cut Alice's clothes off her, leaving just the emergency dressing. It looked to her like the glass might have cut the liver. She swapped the saline for a blood infusion.

Lucien had taken seconds to prepare and was holding out his hand for a scalpel within two minutes.

'Right, Sister.' He sighed, 'let's do this.'

An anaesthetist had arrived and, while Lucien started to incise from the entry point, he took steps to keep the patient asleep.

Lucien slowly removed the glass shard, taking care not to break it. It was a large incision he had made. The shard was long and apparently thin, embedded in the liver, an organ noted for its self healing properties. Lucien was relieved not to find any other bleeding, and deduced that the damage to the liver was the reason for her bleeding. As he had cleaned and swabbed the blood it had slowed to an ooze and then the organ stopped losing precious fluid. He slowly and neatly sutured Alice's wound, doing his best to make a tidy job. He looked at the anaesthetist who had quietly and efficiently done his job, checking all life signs: he confirmed that blood pressure was now stabilised, oxygen levels were acceptable, Alice would make it!

Sister Lambert dressed the wound and Alice was taken up to a ward. Lucien left instructions that she was to be kept sedated for the next few hours, until he could be there to rouse her. He leant against the theatre wall, pulling his cap and mask off and wiping his face with them. Theatre staff were moving past him at speed, other casualties from the accident, were being brought in; he took a deep breath and went to see if there was any more he could do.

By the end of the day he and many others had patched, stitched and dressed wounds. The driver of the vehicle had been brought in by police, to a side room where he could be treated for a head wound, sustained when he hit the steering wheel. Blood samples had been taken to ascertain whether or not he had been drinking, and he had been deemed fit enough to be taken to the police cells. Lucien finally got the chance to go and see Alice, mindful of the fact that he had not had chance to speak to or see his wife.

Alice was lying flat in the bed, her face pale against the dark of her hair. A final unit of blood was dripping into her arm, she was wearing a hospital gown, but she looked fragile, tiny in the bed. He had never noticed she was quite small until now. He looked at the visitor, Jean. How Jean had managed to persuade sister to let her sit with Alice he could only assume. Jean could be very persuasive, and Alice had probably saved her life. He went over and kissed her, holding her tight and breathing in her scent, stroking her head.

'Jean,' he whispered, 'oh Jean.'

'Lucien,' she tried to sound firm, 'I'm fine, Alice...'

'I know.' He took her face in his hands and smiled tiredly at her then kissed her forehead.

'Will she be alright?' Jean wrapped her arms round him.

'Yes.' Lucien sighed with relief. 'She had a shard of glass in her liver, but the bleeding has stopped. Rest is all she needs now.'

'I'll make up the guest room.' Jean smiled.

'That holiday...'

'We'll go someday.' Jean kissed him, 'friends are more important.'

Lucien pulled her against his chest, the best and loveliest woman in the world.

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Lucien pulled Matthew off Edward Tyneman in the interview room, and dragged him outside.

'Matthew, for goodness sake!'

'He nearly killed Alice!' He yelled back.

'He nearly killed Jean and a lot of others.' Lucien grabbed his shoulders and made him look him in the eye.

'But Alice; Blake,' Matthew looked beyond his friend, 'she's the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

Lucien had no idea, but now was not the time for interrogating his old friend about his love life.

'We'll get him legally,' Lucien said, quietly, 'Patrick won't be able to stop this.' He knew that not even Patrick would protect his son from this.

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As we know from a previous story, Patrick has his limits!


	2. Chapter 2 Rescued

Words to be included:

unfortunately, occasionally, change, coming, heard, jumped, started, thought, tries, watch, together, always, during, every, morning, spontaneous, inconspicuous, notorious, dispel, spite

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This morning as she walked to the studio she jumped into the River Seine. As she leaped a fleeting thought; such a spontaneous act was probably not the best idea. It certainly did not make her inconspicuous, nor dispel the feeling of boredom that she had today. Her studio 'mother', who looked after the models; was notorious for her spite, her vindictive ways, always directed at the most junior of models, which Genevieve was.

'It really tries one's patience,' she had moaned to a friend.

She started to swim to the shore, but unfortunately the wash from a passing tourist boat and the weight of her clothes swept her further downstream. Now she was in trouble, but she thought she heard a voice, coming from the bank,

'Hold on!' it called, 'I'm on my way.'

He jumped down and sprinted towards her, occasionally stumbling on the stones, but then he was there, her saviour. He pulled her out of the freezing river and wrapped her in his coat and together they walked up onto the pavement.

He took her home to her tiny flat, where he sat in her living 'room' while she went to change her wet clothes During the half hour or so it took her to dry off he found the kitchenette and made her a hot drink.

'This,' he thought, 'might be the start of something wonderful.'

Genevieve came out from behind the screen she used as a wall between the living area and sleeping area wrapped in a blue robe, her red-gold tresses still wet from the water, tumbled over her slender shoulders. She looked at her rescuer, dressed in a conservative but smart suit, sitting upright on the couch. Although she spoke perfect English his accent was unfamiliar to her.

She sat next to him, studying his features, his clear blue eyes and fair hair; he'd make a good subject, she thought.

'Monsieur,' she said quietly, 'you saved me, but I do not know your name.'

'Thomas,' he replied, falling instantly in love with her voice, the sexy accent assaulted his ears, her looks assaulted his eyes.

'I do not know your speech, your, uh, accent?' She smiled, 'you are from..?'

'Australia,' he supplied, 'Victoria, it's in the south.'

'You like it?' she asked, tipping her head to one side.

'It's beautiful, light, airy.' Thomas' expression became almost dreamy, 'wide open skies, vast lands...'

He realised he didn't know her name, how to find out?

'Mademoiselle..?'

'Etienne, Genevieve Etienne.' She smiled, 'I paint.' She looked at him with a silent question.

'I'm a doctor.' He told her, 'I will be taking a practice in Ballarat when I return home'.

Genevieve eyed him, fascinated, she had fallen in love with him almost instantly, he sounded secure, as if he would keep her safe. After all he had saved her from drowning. Travelling the world, she would be inspired, perhaps this 'Ballarat' would awaken her soul.

'I would love to see more of the world.' She whispered, 'France is my birthplace but...My mother used to say I had wanderlust.'

'I must be going.' Thomas coughed, 'may I escort you somewhere?'

Thomas wondered if Mlle Etienne would continue to wherever she had been going.

'I must get to the studio,' Genevieve stood up, 'Madame will be cross.'

'What do you do there?' Thomas asked, as she went back to dress, 'Is that where you paint?' There were artists things around the room so he was beginning to wonder why she would be going to a studio.

'I am a model,' She noticed Thomas' raised eyebrows and knew he was worried, 'Oh Monsieur, I do not undress. Oh no, no! I remain clothed.' She was blushing when she came out from behind the screen, fully clothed. That had been her stipulation when she had taken the position. It was just to earn enough to live.

He offered her his arm...

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And the rest is history! My first attempt at a back story for Thomas and Genevieve, inspired by the Audition scene from LA LA Land, and the weekly spelling list.


	3. Chapter 3 Shoved

Words required:

accommodate, amateur, average, embarrass, familiar, guarantee, hindrance, interfere, individual, vegetable, privilege, neighbour

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'Your neighbour is watching,' Matthew said, as he pulled up onto Alice's drive.

'Again?' Alice huffed, 'honestly I thought Jean and Lucien had the worst of it, but now it seems I'm the target of the gossip.'

Matthew got out of the car and, as he went to open the door for her, he turned and waved to the woman, who had become a familiar presence in their lives. The curtains were swiftly closed, and he grinned. 'Amateur.'

'Ignore her,' Alice muttered.

'Sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you.' He kissed her cheek.

'Well perhaps you should stop kissing me on the drive, then.' But she smiled as she tossed her dark curls and headed to the front door.

Inside the hallway she kicked off her shoes and hung her coat up.

'Tea?' she asked, over her shoulder.

'Please.' Matthew hung his cap over her coat and followed her into the small kitchen.

He put his arms round her, 'There are always those that like to interfere in other people's lives, love.' He kissed her forehead, 'they're usually just sad and lonely.'

'I know,' she pushed him gently out of the way, 'don't worry, I can cope.'

She poured the tea and they sat at the kitchen table, 'So,' he sipped his tea, 'what are we going to do about the individual you have in the morgue?'

'Honestly, Matthew, I have no idea.' She put her cup on the saucer and sighed. She and Lucien had worked out the how, where and when, the man had died, but no one could understand why or knew who he was. Three days they had kept him in the mortuary, but they couldn't accommodate him there forever.

'Well, all I can think of is a photograph in the paper.' Matthew looked at her, they'd done this before, 'maybe someone will recognise him.'

'Well In that case, I'll prepare him tomorrow and Rose can come and do her best to make him look good.' Alice looked saddened. She hated it when they had an anonymous body that nobody seemed to want. 'Seems such a shame, just your average, everyday chap. Given that he was found out by the lake, just a bang on the head, all we can think is a tragic accident, a fall.' She added.

'Mmm...' Matthew pondered. 'Well, I'll speak to Tyneman and get him to put a story together for the paper to add to the picture, but there's no guarantee it'll work this time.'

The picture and the story went out in the following day's edition of the Courier. Edward, in his infinite wisdom had put a reward for information in too, but the number of people that came forward were more of a hindrance than a help, again. Some said they had seen him alone by the lake, some said he had been with someone, one even said he'd chased him out of his garden after he'd caught him in the vegetable patch, nicking some carrots! No he hadn't reported it.

In the end a small lad said he'd seen him with the newsagent arguing. The man had been pushed and had fallen. Apparently the lad had made a run for it when the newsagent turned round a saw him. When he told his story, his mother gave him a clip round the ear for not speaking up before. Matthew squatted down in front of the boy and said he expected he was scared. The boy just nodded his head urgently,

'It's alright, son,' Matthew smiled, 'next time you come straight to me, I'll make sure you're ok.'

They still didn't know his name but when they interviewed the newsagent he said, after denying all knowledge of the man, that it was his estranged brother. They'd got into a fight over his part of the business, which he never took any interest in and he'd given him a shove, hard. His brother had fallen and he had walked away.

'I didn't know he was dead, honest!' he said.

'But you didn't stop to check he was ok, did you?' Lucien snapped. 'You just left him there, in the mud.'

'Lock him up, Hobart.' Matthew instructed, 'call Melbourne in the morning.'

'Right, boss,' Bill nodded, 'will do. Come on, you drongo.' He took him firmly by the arm and led him out to spend the night in the cells.

'So, Matthew,' teased the doctor, 'any plans for the evening?'

'Not that it's any of your business, but I'm taking Alice to dinner.' Matthew strode off, leaving Lucien with a huge grin on his face.

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I need to choose the spelling list a little more carefully, this one was a challenge!


	4. Chapter 4 Strawberries

Words required:

bargain, category, communicate, conscious, convenience, definite, occupy, programme, relevant, sacrifice, variety, twelfth, privilege.

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Jean sauntered through the market, in no hurry to return home. There was no surgery and Lucien was out at a crime scene. It was too warm a day to rush around anyway. She was standing by the fruit stall, this year had been particularly good for soft fruits and there was a large amount of strawberries there. At the very back of the stall there was a box of the fruit slightly past it's best, at a bargain price. They would be good for making jam, she thought.

'Those strawberries,' she pointed, 'how much for the whole box?'

'Those, missus?' the stallholder queried. 'They're a bit over.'

'I can see that, they'll be good for jam.' She confirmed. She was conscious that Susan was watching her, down her nose as usual. Susan couldn't understand why Jean still did the housework and cooking for Lucien now she was married to him. Why hadn't they engaged a housekeeper, surely they could afford it? But Jean had been definite when Lucien had suggested it, she didn't want to change anything, she was happy to continue to keep house and run the surgery, be more of a partner in the business. Lucien had agreed, why argue, as long as she was happy he was happy. And now the doctor's wife was buying substandard, cheap fruit to make her own jam!

Susan Tyneman would happily admit she didn't know one end of the kitchen from the other, if Patrick fell on hard times she'd be stuck.

Jean got the strawberries for a most acceptable price and went home. She knew that making the preserve would occupy most of the afternoon and if it turned out well she might even enter it in the relevant category at the next Agricultural Show, that'd show Susan! Jean got a great deal of pleasure out of making her own jams and preserves, almost as much as Lucien got out of eating them!

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She put the fruit down on the table in the kitchen and put the rest of the shopping away. Making herself a quick sandwich she mentally prepared her afternoon. There was cold meat and salad for dinner, a convenience, she knew, but all in the household agreed in was too hot for a roast or stew or some such hearty meal.

She washed her plate and glass and set them on the draining board, then started to sort the fruit out into too far gone to use, even in jam and a few that were still good enough to eat with some cream or ice-cream. A treat for dessert. The rest of the strawberries were a variety of shapes and sizes, but whatever they looked like, as long as they hadn't bruised too much they went in to the colander to be rinsed before she put them in her preserving pan.

She had just turned the stove on when there was a knock at the door, turning the ring down low she went to answer it; there stood two of the Evans' boys, Li'l Al, smiling as ever, and John.

'Hullo, Mrs Blake,' John smiled, 'any jobs need doin'?'

'Some weeding,' she laughed, 'a shilling if you weed the bottom border, and a pot of freshly made jam.' She felt she could sacrifice one jar of jam for the Evans'.

'Deal!' John smiled, then looking at Li'l Al, signed Jean's offer. Li'l Al was deaf and the whole family had learned sign language in order to communicate with him. Jean had learned a few signs, but generally Al settled for a hug from Mrs Blake.

The boys went round to the garden shed to get the tools they needed and started tidying up for Jean and Jean went back to her jam making. While the fruit cooked she washed her jars and put them ready to go into the oven to be sterilised. She stirred the fruit and started to add the sugar. Jean made jam the way her grandmother did, by sight and taste and whether it set in time or not, with a basic nod to an actual recipe.

John and Li'l Al knocked and came in through the sun room, wiping their feet on the mat.

'Hello, boys,' Jean turned and smiled, 'finished already?'

'Yes, Mrs Blake,' John nodded, 'and we've cleaned and put the tools away.'

'Thank you, now wash your hands,' she instructed them, 'and I'll pour you some juice. Would you like some shortbread?'

Li'l Al nodded enthusiastically as she showed him the tin, then went to give her a hug. Jean felt it was a privilege to be in his life, he was such a dear little soul, no trouble and didn't let his deafness get in the way of enjoying life.

The boys sat at the table and drank their juice and ate the shortbread. They watched Jean put the jars in the oven and test the jam for setting, Li'l Al watched particularly closely, it always fascinated him, the way she cooked, turning fruit into jam or eggs, sugar, butter and flour into cakes. One day he'd like to be able to do that, he thought.

'Now, stay out of the way, boys, please,' she warned them as she put the preserving pan on a mat on the table and took the jars out of the over.

They watched eagerly as she poured the hot jam into the jars and sealed them. she put the twelfth jar to one side,

'That one's yours, boys.' She told them, 'but you'll have to wait until it's cool enough to handle.'

'Thank you, Mrs Blake,' John grinned, 'it's really kind of you.'

'Less for the doctor to eat,' she whispered, conspiratorially. They laughed.

'Mrs Blake,' John pulled out a leaflet from his pocket, 'we are having a fundraising evening at school. Would you and the doctor come? It's to raise money for a new classroom, for the little ones.' He handed her the leaflet, it was a programme for the evening.

'Why, John, that's a lovely idea. I will make sure that Dr Blake keeps that evening free. Would you like an extra pot of jam for the raffle?' Jean smiled, the both liked to support causes such as this, and anything they could do to help...

'Really?' John's eyes widened.

'I'm sure I can spare another.' She grinned.

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Poor Lucien, one less pot of jam. Well there we go, another challenge completed. I'm trying to keep the slush out of these stories, most of my pupils are boys! And before you say anything, I know I don't always succeed!


	5. Chapter 5 Bicycles

Words required:

(homophones) were, where, of, off, no, know, there, their, they're, knew, new, whole, hole, which, witch, are, our, two , to, too; plus, signature, catches, bicycle, biscuit, weight, neighbour, dominoes, opportunities, thieves, responsibilities; for interest.

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Charlie was frustrated, there were some thieves going around Ballarat taking bicycles, and now his police issue bicycle had been lifted from beside the house when he nipped home to grab a bite to eat, which was really embarrassing.

The Boss was not pleased, 'For goodness sake, Davies!' He bawled at the officer, '...and the rest of you, you have had multiple opportunities to catch this lot.'

'But Boss, ' even Hobart was on Charlie's side. 'The bicycles have disappeared without trace, we don't see anyone riding round on them, nicked or otherwise.'

Matthew scratched his head, it was ridiculous. The thieves signature move appeared to be to wait until the bicycle had been propped up and swiftly rode away on it, the whole thing was wasting police time, they needed to be trying to find a murderer, not a group of, what was probably, youths having a laugh!

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Down in the morgue Dr Harvey and Dr Blake were equally confused with their latest case. The body of a man in his early fifties lay on the table. He was well dressed apart from his shoes which were shabby and the left one had a hole in the sole. He had been found behind the club, propped up against the wall where Cec left the empty crates for collection by the garbage disposal men. Cec didn't recognise him as a member or as a guest of one. His wallet was empty, so robbery had probably played a part in his death, but he didn't appear to have been assaulted.

As Lucien removed the clothing Alice examined each item, looking for clues as to how the man had died or who he was. Nothing. They examined the body, starting from the head. He didn't appear to have a head wound, and an x-ray showed the skull to be intact with no sign of bruising. The face was unmarked, but on examination there were signs of petechiae in the eyes. Lucien checked the mouth and spotted something right at the back of the mouth.

'Torch, please, Alice,' he said, 'there's something in here.'

Alice handed him the torch and held the lower jaw down to give a better view.

'Tweezers: there's definitely something there.' Alice passed the tweezers she was too intrigued to remind him she was not his slave. Lucien carefully put the tweezers to the back of the throat and gently pulled. It appeared to be cloth, lots of cloth! It kept coming, seeming to be never ending! Eventually, they had the article, a fine silk scarf, originally blue in colour but now stained with vomit.

'Suffocated,' Lucien remarked, sadly, 'what an awful way to die.'

'But how would they get him to stay still while they pushed it so far in?' Alice wondered, considering consigning her silk scarves to the bin, or at least the very back of the wardrobe.

Hmm...good point, my dear colleague.' Lucien mused. 'How indeed.'

'You don't suppose he tried to swallow it, do you?' She suggested. 'Trying to, oh I don't know, clear his airway.'

'Well, I suppose it could have been his idea,' Lucien looked at her, 'and I suppose a reaction, a bit like trying to clear a poorly chewed piece of food.'

'Perhaps some bruising round the mouth might show, if we leave him overnight.' She thought out loud.

'Possibly.'

They continued to examine the body, trying to see if there were any other signs of assault, bruising, scratches and the like. His chest had two hand prints showing and when they turned him over they could see corresponding marks on his back, where he had been pushed against the wall. There were no defensive wounds on his hands or wrists so it didn't look like he had put up a fight.

'Alice, we need bloods to see if he was drunk or drugged.' Lucien said, taking a syringe from the tray, 'no one is going to allow someone to push a silk scarf down their throat, willingly.' He drew the blood, 'it's very strange.'

'Right, well these will take twenty four hours, so shall we call it a day on this one?' Alice suggested.

'Got a hot date, Alice?' Lucien teased.

'None of your damn business,' she replied tartly, putting the sheet over the body and pushing it into the drawer.

'Right, of course, sorry.' Lucien gulped, he really should rein it in with Alice, teasing Matthew was all well and good, but he shouldn't tease her. 'You get off, I'll tidy up here.' His way of apologising. Alice swept out of the room trying to hide her smile, only Lucien and Jean knew she and Matthew were 'courting', and she wanted it kept that way, so did Matthew!

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Lucien sauntered into the house, there was a lovely smell of fresh baking. Sneaking into the kitchen he saw what Jean had been up to that afternoon. He took a warm biscuit off the tray and sampled the sweet, crumbly treat.

'Are you pinching biscuits, again, Lucien?' Jean called through from the living room. The advantage of that part of the house being open meant she could sit and knit and keep an eye on her cooking, and anyone sneaking a snack before dinner?

Caught!

'Umm, ' he mumbled through the crumbs, turning to see her smiling he grinned like a little boy. Swallowing, 'just testing, my dear. New recipe?'

'Yes, one Dorothy suggested.' She laughed at him, looking so contrite, 'thought you might like the hint of lemon in them.'

'They're lovely.' He went through to her and kissed her in greeting.

'Nothing beats your shortbread, though.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere, doctor.' She teased.

'Can't blame a chap for trying.' He kissed her again and went to hang his jacket up.

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Charlie was subdued at dinner, he'd had to walk home, the boss said if he could lose a bike at home then a car wouldn't be safe.

'You alright, Charlie?' Jean asked, passing him some potatoes.

'Yeah,' Charlie tried to smile, 'the thieves have struck again, nicked my pushie from here while I had dinner, boss won't let me have a car in case that gets nicked too, and we're trying to find out who your bloke in the morgue is, doc. Just a normal day in Ballarat.'

'I'm sure Matthew is only teasing about the car,' Jean soothed, 'but how many bicycles now?'

'Frankly, too many.' Charlie speared a potato , 'about ten, that's the ones that have been reported.'

'Well, look out for a bicycle sale.' Jean slapped Lucien's hand as it crept towards the potatoes. 'I'm not letting your trousers out, Lucien, you've enough on your plate. Anyway, you won't have room for dessert.'

Lucien's eyes lit up, pudding, now that was the best bit of news he'd had all day! Jean rolled her eyes, it was like living with two schoolboys and her husband was the worst!

'That's not a bad idea, Jean,' Charlie cheered up, 'ever thought of a career in the force?'

Jean ignored that, and carried on eating. Lucien ate quietly, thinking about his case.

'Now, can I help you with your case, Lucien?' She smiled.

'Anonymous body, suffocated with a silk scarf shoved down his throat. Mid fifties, reasonably well dressed but shabby shoes, one with a hole in.' Lucien recited, 'found behind the club. No external injuries apparent.'

'Mmm..' Jean mused, this was a trickier one than missing bicycles. 'Silk scarves on a man, rather effete, don't you think? Unusual in Ballarat, possibly theatrical. There's a play on at the theatre, company from outside town. Although it could be a woman, but silk scarves at this time of the year, I doubt it.' She got up to clear the plates leaving the two men staring at each other, opened mouthed.

'Close your mouths boys, it's not pleasant.' She said, over her shoulder, as she took the dessert off the side. Lucien grinned broadly as he saw she had made cherry tart, one of his favourites, but then Lucien did have a sweet tooth.

There was a knock at the door; Jean served the dessert while Lucien went to answer the door, it was likely for him.

He opened the door but there was no one in sight. Moving his hand over his head he closed the door and turned to go back to his dessert. As he moved his foot slipped on an envelope. He picked it up, addressed to him he opened it and read, creasing his forehead in irritation he took it back to the table.

'Who was it, dear?' Jean asked.

'Someone with a warped sense of humour.' He put the note on the table.

Charlie picked it up and read out loud,

'Push bikes for sale. Sunday, the old stables.'

It wasn't signed but when Jean looked at it she sighed,

'Typical.'

'What, it's just a joke, not a very funny one, but just a joke.' Lucien said, his mouth full of tart.

Jean raised her eyebrows at his lack of manners,

'It's our neighbour.' She said, crossly, 'you know, the old witch who spread all those rumours about us, before we married.'

Charlie was surprised to hear Jean be so uncharitable.

'It's alright, Charlie,' Lucien touched his arm, 'Jean and I could cope with most of the gossip but she was really vile. I take it you recognise the handwriting?' He turned to Jean. 'Our lives could be pretty unbearable sometimes, the vicious notes she wrote...' He reached over and squeezed her arm.

'Oh, it's definitely hers.' Jean confirmed, pushing her plate away, she had suddenly lost her appetite.

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Jean didn't drink her sherry either, the note had brought back all the horrid memories of gossip and snide remarks, but the worst had been their neighbour. Mindful of Lucien's responsibilities in the community, as GP and police surgeon she had restrained herself but it had been difficult. Now they were married most, but not all, of the mean comments had ceased. Lucien noticed the catches in her voice as she spoke and wondered how he could make her feel better. Perhaps he should just let her ride it out with a bit of extra loving thrown in.

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Sunday dawned, bright and warm. Jean, as usual, attended Sunday Mass and then headed off to the old stables to meet Lucien, Charlie and the men from the station, all in plain clothes. She smiled as she saw them and Lucien was pleased to see she had got over the note earlier in the week. The doors to the stables were opened to reveal rows of bicycles, and half a dozen young lads from the fairground ready to sell their ill gotten wares. There was a good number of locals who had come to look, possibly buy, some of whom had had their own bikes stolen.

Matthew instructed his men to let the auction get underway before starting anything. Charlie and Ned stood at one side, apparently interested observers, Bill and another young constable were at the other side. Matthew, together with Alice, Jean and Lucien stood at the back looking bored.

'Oy!' A man looking over the bikes shouted, 'that's my lad's!'

One of the blow-ins looked to his mates, nervously; while a woman called, 'Isn't this a police issue pushie?'

Then it all got a little wild. A bicycle was pushed over, it's weight toppling a row like dominoes.

Matthew turned to Alice and Jean, 'Ladies, if you would be so kind...' he indicated they should get themselves out of harm's way and shouted to his men, 'Bill, Charlie, go for it!'

The ladies moved out of the way while the officers and Lucien waded in to catch the thieves.

'Alice,' Jean looked at the bag her friend was carrying, 'is that a first aid kit?'

Lucien and Matthew are involved, Jean, of course it is.' She smiled.

'Good idea,' Jean whispered back grinning, although she could potentially have a damaged husband.

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Jean knew she could get everybody round the table, and had told Lucien that when they had finished charging the blow-ins, dinner would be waiting for them, that included Matthew, Bill and Ned, the other young constable lived with his parents and was expected home.

'Jean, it's us!' Lucien called as he and the team entered.

'Kitchen!' she called where she was putting the roast ready for carving and Alice was setting the table.

Lucien went up to Jean and kissed her, 'Smells good,' he remarked, 'you and the dinner.'

'Behave, dear, you'll embarrass Bill and Ned,' she teased, leaning in and kissing his cheek.

Over dinner they discussed the case and Matthew told them that the stables were locked until the following day when Ned and Charlie would help people to be reunited with their property.

'So now all we have to do is solve your murder,' Jean said.

'Done that too.' Lucien grinned. 'It turns out our man was from the theatre. He had caught one of the lads from the fairground taking one of the bikes and challenged him. The others took him behind the club and, as we all know, stuffed his scarf into his throat, took the contents of his wallet and left him to die.'

'So stupid, all over a bicycle.' Jean sighed.

'Too true, my dear, too true.' Lucien agreed.

Dinner over Bill and Ned left, Matthew and Lucien washed up and Jean and Alice sat down for a well deserved sherry.

'Whisky, Matthew?' Lucien offered, when they had finished their chores.

'Er, no thanks, Lucien,' he went slightly pink, 'I promised to run Alice home.'

Alice stood up, 'Thanks for dinner, Jean.' She smiled, 'See you tomorrow Lucien.'

'Thanks for your help, Alice.' Jean smiled back.

'Goodnight, all.' Matthew said and he escorted Alice out of the house.

'Well, no doubt about that, is there?' Lucien smirked at Jean.

'Don't you dare tease them.' She warned, smiling back.

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A little long for a challenge story, but who knew how hard it is to get all the homophones into one story?


	6. Chapter 6 Saturday

Words required:

extravagant, accommodate, curious, Saturday, water, suddenly, communicate, interest, lounge, distant, active, direction

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Saturday: Alice liked Saturdays, it was the one day of the week she was guaranteed time to herself. Lucien took Sunday off to look after his baby son, while Jean went to Mass. Going against the church's teachings and marrying a divorced man had not stopped her belief in God, even if Alice thought God had stopped believing in her friend. Anyway, that was by the by; Saturday was Alice's time to do whatever she liked. What she liked to do was have a long soak in the bath, sinking under the warm water, not getting out until it started to cool then wrapping herself in a large fluffy bath towel, going to her bedroom and taking her time getting ready for the day and whatever it held.

Today she had no plans, Matthew was on duty at the police station, she didn't need to go into town, the garden didn't need any work doing in it; not that gardening held any interest for her, that was her beloved's area. She liked to see it neat and tidy, but she was no gardener. She had no housework to do; being a working woman she employed a woman to come in twice a week to clean and do the laundry for her; extravagant, she knew, but it meant she had time to spend with Matthew especially as she hadn't known in what direction their relationship was going, initially. Now they were 'together', and even if some of the officers had found it curious at first that their confirmed bachelor of a superintendant had decided to date the acerbic pathologist, things seemed to be going rather well.

At first, she had found it difficult to accommodate Matthew in her life, having vowed never to consider a romantic entanglement after past such situations had gone badly wrong, then, suddenly, he had been there whenever she needed someone to talk to , to discuss a case with or just to share a meal with.

He, in his turn, had originally found her distant even cold, but circumstances had proved him wrong and he had gradually warmed to her, finding her intelligent and blessed with a surprising sense of humour, a very dark one. He became active in his pursuit of Alice Harvey and eventually caught her, much to her surprise.

Now they sat in her lounge, actually it had become their lounge; he rarely went to his house anymore, his niece, Rose lived there and, he was sure, was entertaining Sergeant Charlie Davies there. So they sat in their lounge most evenings discussing the events of the day, drinking their evening whisky, she preferred it to Jean's tipple of sherry, and would 'entertain' themselves until bedtime.

Gradually Matthew had moved most of his clothes over to Alice's in an unspoken understanding that they would live together regardless of the gossip. Alice usually had a cutting riposte to anyone who made to communicate their opinion of people living together outside the bonds of marriage. As she said, it was their life; but Matthew was determined to get her up the aisle, one day!

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Bit of a ramble through the life of Alice Harvey!


	7. Chapter 7 Cat

A challenge story about the Blake's, the Evan's boys and a cat. It's not easy getting these words into stories when you're actively trying to.

Words required:

leisure interfere marvellous occupy neighbour queue recommend sacrifice prejudice shoulder soldier system recognise signature suggest stomach twelfth vehicle thorough yacht identity immediately variety cat

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Back a month from their honeymoon, Dr and Mrs Blake had settled back into the routine of surgery and police surgeon duties for him, cleaning, cooking and organising for her. Jean was pleased to see her system of filing patient records had not been disturbed by the locum, and that no one had deserted the list. They had a new neighbour, the old one having left Ballarat to live with her family in Bendigo, failing health decreed she needed more care than she could get where she lived. Jean pooh-poohed the idea, she could recognise scheming relatives; Betty's family had rarely come near her for years and now in her twilight years had decided they'd better step up to the plate. The new neighbour quickly got a name for being 'the mad cat lady' due to the fact she seemed to have rather a lot of the creatures who left a variety of 'gifts' in Jean's garden, sometimes it turned her stomach.

Jean still had visits from the Evans' boys who would sacrifice their leisure time to come and do her garden. They didn't seem to mind cleaning up after the cats. There was one cat that was smaller than the rest, a little silver tabby. Li'l Al had quite taken to the creature and even Jean had to admit it was the least offensive of the animals. It would sit in a sunny spot, very upright like a soldier, and so it was named, 'Major'. Major spent more time in Jean's garden than in his own home so much so that Lucien did once suggest they adopt it. Jean wasn't sure, she had had dogs on the farm, and the only cat was there to keep the mice and rats down. She didn't have mice, except for the dead ones left by the other cats. Lucien pointed out that often if you have a cat of your own you don't get bothered by others. Jean thought about this for a few days and decided that if they were to adopt Major then she had better go and see his owner. She took L'il Al with her, thinking it might make a difference.

Because the new neighbour had not made herself known to the Blake's and had not even acknowledged Jean's friendly wave, Jean had no idea what her name was.

She held Al's hand as she knocked on the door. Betty had always kept the house neat and tidy, but now the garden was overrun with cats and untidy, the door needed re-painting. They waited. Jean was just about to knock again when she heard shuffling behind the door and it was opened just a crack.

'Good morning,' Jean said, brightly, 'I'm Mrs Blake, I live just over there.' Jean pointed to the house. 'I wondered if I could have a word about one of your cats.'

'Huh,' the woman grunted. Her age was difficult to tell. She was small, smaller than Jean, her hair was unkempt and she didn't look too clean.

'There's one, a little grey one, striped.' Jean continued, trying not to grimace at the overpowering smell of 'cat' emanating from the house. 'Little Al here, has quite taken to him. I wondered, if you don't mind, if we might adopt him.' She smiled sweetly.

'Know anything about cats?' The woman grumbled.

'I used to run a farm, we had a mouser.' Jean replied.

The woman looked at Li'l Al, his eyes were wide and his face eager, 'Feed him properly, will you?'

Jean signed the question to Al, who nodded earnestly.

'Mmm...' the woman thought then looked at Jean, 'He yours?'

'Actually no,' Jean admitted, 'he's the son of one of my husband's patients. He and his brothers come over and do some gardening for me, to earn a little pocket money. Major, the cat, would stay with us.'

'Major, why call a little runt like that Major?'

'He sits as if he's at attention in the sun,' Jean explained, 'my husband was a Major in the army. It was the boys' idea.'

'Huh.' She tossed her head. For once it looked like she had a neighbour who wasn't going to interfere in her life. And what was one cat, anyway? If she remembered rightly, Major was the offspring of the twelfth cat she had taken in.

'Ok, then.' And she shut the door. Jean and Li'l Al just stood there. Al looked up at Jean, and she smiled and nodded so he knew the cat was now theirs.

'Shall we get him a collar, Al?' Jean signed. Li'l Al nodded and flung his arms round Jean, he still did this even though he was now six and quite grown up!

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The pet store was not particularly busy when Jean and the boys went in. They had sat in the car having a chat about what they would need for Major apart from a collar.

'What about food bowls, Mrs Blake?' Stevie asked.

'Mm..good point, Stevie,' Jean noted, 'but I think I've a couple of old dishes that will do. Flea treatment might be a good idea, I'll ask the shop owner to recommend some.'

The boys were happy to look for the things they needed, Jean had said the cat could eat leftovers, for the most part, although she might buy some cat treats for it. Li'l Al chose a blue collar with an identity tag on it.

Armed with their purchases the only thing Jean now wanted was flea treatment; she waited in the short queue and spoke to the store owner, asking for one that would do a thorough job of keeping the fleas at bay. His recommendation was one that would need applying monthly, but was the best on the market.

'Thank you, I think that's everything, boys, don't you?' She smiled at her young companions.

'Guess so, Mrs Blake.' Stevie agreed. Jean paid the bill and the boys carried their purchases out to the vehicle. Li'l Al kept hold of the collar he had chosen, quite excited about having a pet, even though it would live at Dr Blake's.

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Lucien was back from the station and wandering about the house wondering where his wife was, it looked as she had just abandoned her gardening. He stood staring out of the sunroom, scratching his head. A sudden noise from the hall made him turn round, giggles and more footsteps than one person. Looking through into the kitchen he saw the Evans' boys with Jean behind them. They were all smiling.

'Hello, where have you been?' He smiled back at them.

'Pet store,' Jean kissed him, 'collar and flea treatment for the cat.'

'The lady said we could have Major, Dr Blake.' John grinned.

'Marvellous, I think.' Lucien was surprised she had actually decided to go with the idea of adopting the animal. 'So you met our new neighbour?'

'Hmm..,' Jean pursed her lips, 'tell you later.'

Li'l Al pulled Jean's skirt and waved the collar at her.

'Come on then,' she smiled, 'let's go and find Major and put his collar on, and the flea treatment.'

'Shall I make some tea?' Lucien asked.

'Oh that would be lovely,' She agreed, 'and would you mind doing some juice for the boys?'

'Not at all.' He went to his task and Jean and the boys went back out into the garden.

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They couldn't immediately see Major until Li'l Al saw him up in a tree. There was definitely a connection between the child and the cat, Jean noticed that when Major saw his little friend he jumped down and wound himself round the boy's legs. Al picked him up and held him on his shoulder while Jean fastened the collar round his neck. It had a little bell on it so they would know when he was around. While Al had the cat still Jean applied the flea treatment, a few drops on the back of his neck. It was all done when Lucien brought a tray of juice and tea out for them.

He wondered what their new neighbour was like that Jean would 'tell him later'. She didn't usually show prejudice, her values had changed since they had become engaged, probably because he had told her stories about other people he had met over the years and over the countries, the different ways some cultures lived their lives. He'd talk to her later when they were going through paperwork, it being the end of the week when they tidied up the accounts.

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Jean looked at the neat pile of receipts and bills ready to be dealt with. There were also some letters requiring the doctor's signature, that somehow she had found time to type up in between sorting out the boys, the cat and dinner. It had been a very busy day, so she was glad that for once there wasn't too much to occupy them, about an hour should see everything done and they could put their feet up.

'So, our neighbour,' Lucien sat back against the couch and draped his arm over Jean's shoulder, 'who is she, what's she like?'

'Still don't know her name,' Jean admitted, sipping her sherry. 'I couldn't guess her age, she wasn't exactly chatty. Untidy, dirty, I'm afraid. The garden's a mess, the door needs painting, Betty used to keep it so neat and tidy. She was always in the garden.'

'How else was she supposed to keep an eye on us!' There was a twinkle in Lucien's eye as he remembered their unofficial chaperone before they were even courting.

'Lucien, honestly.' Jean rolled her eyes, but he was right. Betty, unfortunately was the source of much of the gossip about the doctor and, his then, housekeeper. All of it untrue. Lucien had once said that if they lived on a yacht in the middle of Lake Wendouree she would still find a way to spy on them.

'See Major's made himself at home.' Lucien observed, nodding in the direction of the cat, now curled up on a chair. Jean had put an old blanket out for him and he seemed to know which was his spot. He would probably curl up in front of the fire when it was lit.

'Mm..but I don't want him in the bedrooms so the doors need to be kept closed, as does the waiting room and consulting room.' She was adamant about this. Major was to be allowed in the living room, kitchen and sun room, but nowhere else.

'I'm sure he wouldn't dare.' Lucien grinned.

Jean slapped his shoulder playfully, 'I might banish you, if you don't behave.'

'Now, Mrs Blake, I don't know what you mean.' He turned and kissed her.

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I'm sure Major had a very happy life with Jean and Lucien, and was well loved by Li'l Al.


	8. Chapter 8 For remembrance

Words required:

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apparent, cemetery, curiosity, explanation, forty, language, recognise, temperature, muscle, interrupt

Jean slipped her coat and hat on and picked her handbag up from the hall table. Today was her wedding anniversary, one whole year as Mrs Lucien Blake. She had worn a light dress and jacket that day, but the temperature had dropped of late and she decided a coat would be better today. Lucien was taking her out to dinner that night, at the club but there was one thing she had promised herself she would do every year on this day; she would put flowers on Genevieve's grave. She had made the promise the day she wed the doctor, when she had taken Lucien to the cemetery and placed her wedding flowers there on that sunny Autumn morning.

It had been hard for him not to let his curiosity get the better of him, a cemetery was a strange place to visit on one's wedding day. But as they strolled amongst the graves it became apparent where she was heading. She had offered the explanation later, that Genevieve had brought them together even though she had never known her, having died forty years before she and Lucien met, it was important to Jean that she recognise the part his mother had played in their life.

Jean had explained the reason for some of the foliage in her bouquet, the language of flowers had been important in her choice, particular the sprig of rosemary, for remembrance. He had did not interrupt her but she knew he was moved, there was a muscle in his cheek that twitched when he held back the tears, it had moved him greatly.

Today, as she had done a year ago, she had cut some late blooms from the garden and arranged them into a simple posy, including the sprig of rosemary.

At Genevieve's grave she did a little tidy up and put the flowers in the vase, adding water from a bottle she had brought with her. She stood up and realised she was being watched. She turned to find her husband smiling at her.

'Thought I'd find you here,' He said, kissing her cheek.

She took his hand and they strolled through the graves and home. At peace in each other's company.

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Total fluff for a change.


	9. Chapter 9 Marching

Words required:

although though thought patriotic enough plough bough thorough marooned fought dough rough borough though cough.

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Jean gave the bread dough a thorough pounding. It helped her work out her anger and she was angry. She had passed Evelyn Toohey and Dorothy Turner in town and they were talking about the coming ANZAC parade. Jean usually marched wearing Christopher's medals, in his honour and memory, and Lucien had encouraged her to do so this year, even though she was now his wife. She had been passing the time of day pleasantly with her friends when a stranger stopped and spoke to Evelyn.

Evelyn introduced the woman as Nollie Myers, newly arrived in Ballarat with her husband and son. Mr Myers had served in North Africa and met his wife out there. She was a nurse and they had met when he had been treated for a bullet to the arm. They had married towards the end of the war and moved back to Australia as soon as he was demobbed, she informed the ensemble with some pride.

'Where does the ANZAC parade go?' Nollie asked, and she was told it went from Lydiard Street, up Sturt Street to the Cenotaph. 'Good,' she smiled, 'we like to march. I expect you do too?'

'You do, don't you Jean?' Evelyn remarked. 'Will the doctor march this year?'

'I don't think he will, Evelyn.' Jean said quietly, 'he prefers to remember quietly.'

'Of course.'

'I think it's only right and proper we march.' Mrs Myers replied huffily. 'Did he serve?'

'My husband served in the Far East.' Jean informed her.

'And he doesn't march? Not very patriotic.' Mrs Myers looked at the ladies, Jean's face had darkened. 'We should show our gratitude.' Mrs Myers continued intent on ignoring Jean's obvious displeasure.

'I'd better be off, Evelyn,' Jean turned, 'I need to get ready for surgery.'

'Right, Jean,' Evelyn touched her friend's arm, understandingly, 'I'll see you at the sewing circle, will I?'

'Perhaps.' Jean walked away. How dare a perfect stranger imply that Lucien was not patriotic, she didn't know him. Lucien had fought so hard to survive during the war, and still fought his demons, probably always would, she knew that, so it didn't need some self righteous new comer to say who was or wasn't patriotic. Not every ex-soldier in the borough would march, some would remember their fallen comrades in their own way.

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There was no surgery, it was just an excuse to leave before she said something she would regret. She was seriously considering not marching this year, not now. Perhaps they could have a quiet day to themselves and remember together. Meanwhile, a good bread making session would help her work out her annoyance at this woman's remarks.

Lucien heard the thumping as he crossed the threshold, after a morning filling in mortuary reports for the Superintendant.

'Er, Jean.' He hesitated before entering the kitchen, 'what has that dough done to you that you should give it such rough treatment?'

She looked up and he smiled. She had, at some point, wiped her hand across her brow and had a stripe of flour across her forehead and a spot on the end of her nose. He could see she was upset and went over to her, wrapping his arms round her and kissing the floury make up away.

'Someone's annoyed you, though for once I don't think it's me.' He murmured as she leant into him.

'Sorry, Lucien,' She looked up at him, her hands still covered with flour and bits of bread dough, 'a stranger in town today, passed some foolish remark about those who don't march on ANZAC day.'

'Oh, I take it I was in the firing line, again.' He tightened his hold on her.

'Not everyone marches, darling.' She whispered, 'some prefer solitude. I think I'll stay with you, if you don't mind, this time.'

'It's entirely up to you, Jean, and I'd like to be with you.' He thought it would be quite nice to spend the day with her, just the two of them with their individual losses making them one, together. 'So, has beating up that dough helped?'

'Yes,' she laughed, 'it should be a nice light loaf.'

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Lucien hadn't poured Jean a sherry while she finished putting the dishes away and he was surprised to see her enter the living room.

'I thought you were going to the sewing circle tonight.' He looked up from his paper.

'I think I'll give it a miss, tonight,' she smiled, there's enough mending to keep me occupied here.' It was true, she had some buttons to put on one of Lucien's shirts and there was a tear in Charlie's spare uniform jacket after a tussle with a drunk one night.

'Is the new lady in the sewing circle?' Lucien passed her, her drink, as she wasn't going out.

'Not unless she's been invited by Evelyn on wormed her way in.' Jean threaded her needle, she didn't know why she should care so much, but she did, and she didn't want to get into a conversation about what their respective spouses had done in the war.

'I suppose her husband served, then.' Lucien went to sit next to her, he knew she found this day difficult, maybe he should be the one to make the change and march with her.

'North Africa, apparently.' Jean stopped sewing, 'they met when she was a nurse and he was being treated for a bullet wound.'

'Matthew served in North Africa.'

'I know, and like you he doesn't go on about it.' Jean mused.

'It was hell.' Lucien noted.

'It was all hell, darling.' Jean leaned her head on his shoulder. 'But we don't need people like Nollie Myers to remind us all the time. Those of use that lost loved ones have a constant reminder, even if we have managed to find a new love.'

'True.' Lucien kissed the top of her head and put his arm round her shoulders, holding her tight.

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Although Jean had made the decision not to march Lucien knew she wanted too, deep down. And deep down he knew he was at fault. He should march with her, put on his medals. He sat in his study looking at them, he knew he'd earned them but like Jean had said, he didn't go on about it. His thoughts were wandering when a polite cough brought him back to the present.

'Jean,' he smiled, 'what can I do for you?' She had obviously been in the garden, she was pink with exertion and was still wearing her gardening gloves.

'Could you come into the garden. There's a bough on the apple tree that has grown into the middle.' She tipped her head to one side, 'don't suppose you could come and saw it off for me, dearest.' She stood there with her wide-eyed innocent look that always got what she wanted.

'I'd be delighted.' He lied, but for her...

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ANZAC Day dawned bright and clear. Jean sighed as she stood looking in the mirror in the hall, her sober suit with Christopher's medals pinned to it was smart and appropriate. Lucien had told her she was to march, to honour Christopher as she always did and not let some mealy mouthed new comer stop her.

'Very smart.' Lucien came up behind her and kissed the top of her head. She turned and her chin dropped.

'Lucien,' she gasped, he stood there in his suit as usual with his medals pinned to his chest.

'Thought I'd march with you, if that's alright with you?' He looked at her and lifted her chin with his finger, leaning down to lightly kiss her lips.

'Of course, but...' she was worried it would upset him, bring all his dreadful memories to the forefront of his mind.

'We'll be late.' He ignored the implication and opened the door for her.

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They joined the parade and marched side by side, Jean occasionally looked at her husband. His face had a bland expression, she couldn't read him but hoped that all he was doing was concentrating on keeping control. His hand brushed hers and it felt cold and clammy as if he was afraid.

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Lucien was determined to do this for Jean, but as the parade moved towards the Cenotaph he felt marooned in a sea of nightmares. His feet began to feel heavy, he had to plough through something unknown, deep enough to drown in.

Jean noticed, she had to get him out of the parade, quietly, gently. She was on the outside of the line and took his hand as they passed the club, pulling him gently inside.

She took him to a corner, out of view of the bar and sat him down. He was pale and shaking.

'Stay here.' She urged, 'don't go anywhere.'

She hurried to the bar and ordered him a whisky, quickly paying for it and taking it to him. She put both his hands round the glass and guided it to his lips.

'Drink,' she whispered.

He downed the drink in one go and coughed as it hit the back of his throat. He looked at Jean, seeing her at last, bringing him back to the present, to Ballarat and away from the camp.

'Sorry,' he gulped.

'Don't be,' she leant over and kissed his cheek, 'we'll remember quietly next year. No need to make a show of it.'

'I thought I could handle it.' He sniffed, 'I've been in town at this time before.'

'But you never march.' Jean was gentle, holding his hand, 'when you're ready, we'll go home and sit in the garden.'

They sat for a little while longer and then, unnoticed, slipped out of the club and wandered slowly home, hand in hand.

The garden was peaceful, bright and a world away from his troubled thoughts, he could relax now. Jean smiled at him as she took the tray of tea out to him, it had been brave of him to march with her, but his demons were always there, just out of sight, just under control, and that was how it would always be, she had come to know that.

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Can't remember if Matthew served but Seven Dragons wrote a timeline story in which he served at Tobruk, so thanks to Seven Dragons for that.


	10. Chapter 10 Silver knight

Words required:

stomach, lamb, knee , daughter , knuckle, knight , doubt , write , muscle, island, plumber , psychology , knife , solemn , wrist, knock ,fascinated , thistle isle,

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Alice turned the little silver knight over in her hand. She was fascinated as to how it could have got into the man's stomach. Her surgical knife had clashed against it when she had opened up the organ alerting her to the possible reason for his demise, or at least a pointer to it.

She and Lucien had examined the body, finding a bruise on his left knee and a grazed knuckle, as if he had been dragged over some rough ground, this had also resulted in the dislocation of his wrist and muscle damage to the limb. There was no doubt the man had been roughed over before he had died, a solemn thought and Alice wondered at the psychology of one who could subject another human being to such an attack. Other distinguishing marks were tattoos, one of a thistle and another of an island, both on his forearms.

A knock at the door made her turn round from the sink where she was washing the little object.

'Dr Harvey,' it was Matthew with a young woman. She covered the body quickly, an open cadaver was not a sight for someone out of the profession to see.

'This is Jane Hobson,' Matthew continued, 'she recognised the photograph Davies took round, as that of her father.' He ushered the man's daughter into the room, and she looked shyly at the doctor.

'Please, come in.' Alice said softly.

Jane looked at the face of her father, he seemed to her as if he was sleeping.

'That's dad.' Tears filled her eyes, 'where was he found?'

'Outside the back of the theatre.' Matthew said, coming over to her side, 'do you know what he would be doing there?'

'He was a plumber, he was seeing to some blockages in the dressing room pipes. The water was slow coming through the taps.' She said.

'What were his tattoos for?' Alice asked, in case it had any relevance to the reason for the man's murder.

'Dad was from Scotland, the thistle is the emblem and the island is Mull, where he lived as a boy.' Jane smiled, 'he said he'd take me one day, to see the isle and some of the others too.'

'I'm sorry, Miss Hobson.' Alice touched her arm.

'Thank you.' Matthew and the young lady left Alice to finish up.

Alice looked at the x ray of Mr Hobson's skull, it showed a depression at the back of the head, the cause of death, no doubt. Back at the body she looked at the wound and determined it was probably the result of a large object being slammed into the back of his head.

Lucien barged in, waving something.

'Think I've got it, Alice,' he went over to the head and turned it so he could get a better look at the wound. The object he had was a large wrench and it fitted nicely into the wound. 'Well this is the murder weapon.'

'You sure?' She asked looking closely.

'Yep.' He looked smug, 'I got the same indentation when I tried it on a leg of lamb in the butchers.'

'You did what?!' Alice looked up in surprise, 'do you always practice on joints of meat?'

'Well I can't really on a person, can I?' He looked at her as if it was the most natural thing in the world to use a piece of meat to simulate a beating with a blunt instrument. 'At least this one wasn't our dinner.' He grinned.

'And how did the butcher feel about you abusing his produce?'

'Oh he didn't mind, I did pay for it.' Lucien grinned. 'Now who wielded it?' He scratched his head.

'Well, I'll write up the report and leave it to Matthew to work that one out.' She turned, 'but what has this little knight to do with it?'

'Dunno.' He mused, 'better ask the daughter.'

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Jane declared she had never seen the silver piece before. They had nothing like that at home. Perhaps it belonged to someone at the theatre.

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Matthew, Charlie and Bill interviewed all the theatre staff about Hobson, did they know him? Had they ever seen the silver knight before? The manager was cagey so he was brought in for further questioning.

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The little statue stood on the table, Alice had cleaned it up nicely, it was a nice piece, part of a chess set, they thought. A rather expensive chess set. Nobody had registered a theft lately, not of a silver chess set, anyway.

'Do you know where this came from?' Matthew asked the manager.

'Hobson found it under the sink.' He replied, 'that's all I know.'

'So how did it get inside his stomach?' Lucien picked it up and turned it round in his hand, admiring the work. 'There was no sign of force, it's small enough to be swallowed.' He paused and paced round the room, 'I wonder...would he have tried to test it by biting it, you know some people do? Then, he was hit with the wrench and, gulp, it goes down, by accident. He didn't mean to swallow it.'

'A fight, doc?' Matthew suggested. 'the other bloke wanted it, but Hobson wouldn't give it up so he bludgeoned him with the wrench, first thing that came to hand and, as you say...then the body was dragged out to be left for the garbage truck'

'So who hit him?' Lucien looked at the manager, now looking down at his hands.

'Silly bugger.' He grunted, 'it wasn't a big thing, not worth much.'

'But it would have helped with him saving to take his daughter on a trip to Scotland, for her the trip of a lifetime.' Matthew stood up and opened the interview room door, 'Bill!'

Hobart appeared, 'Boss?'

'Charge him, lock him in the cells.' Matthew picked up the file with the autopsy report in, 'some people.' He shook his head as he and Lucien walked out of the room.

'Rum old world, Matthew, rum old world.' Lucien clapped his friend on the shoulder. 'coming for dinner tonight, Jean's doing roast pork? Alice is joining us.'

'Y'know Blake, that's the best bit of news I've had all day.'

Lucien wasn't sure whether he meant he'd see Alice that night, or that Jean was doing roast pork, but he didn't ask. It would just be nice to have his friends join him and his wife for dinner.

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Yeah, I know, an easy confession, but it's only a little story, for a spelling challenge.


	11. Chapter 11 Fairy Godmother

Words required:

Knowledge, language, leisure, length, library, lightning, marvellous, material, medicine, minute, mischievous, muscle, natural, naughty, necessary, notice, neighbour, nuisance.

The stories now include a 'story starter', which was actually to help the pupils, but mine was chosen for me!

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 **Cold and wet, tired and exhausted he made his way along the path through the trees round the lake**.

He had no knowledge of how he came to be there, or why. He only had a shirt on, pale blue and a pair of dark trousers but he felt there should have been more. His trousers were of a heavy weight wool material and were spattered with mud; and his shirt was light, now clinging to his body with the rain that had followed the thunder and lightning, showing the lines of his slender body. The muscles at the top of his arm ached as if he had been beaten.

He tried to think where he should go, his mother would tell him he was naughty for wandering off, but he didn't know where he had wandered off from, it was all such a nuisance, not being able to remember. For a minute he stood and looked around him, there was nothing familiar about the area and yet he was used to being in the outdoors, but it was not natural or normal for him to be in such a place at this time of day.

He thought back to his childhood, for it was patently obvious to him that he was no longer a child. He had been a mischievous boy, always running off from the library, where he should have been reading, down the length of Doveton Street, to play round the lake, he didn't think it was necessary, at eight years old, to spend all his free time in the dull book filled rooms. He wanted to be outdoors, exploring the wonders of nature, how marvellous it was to watch the black swans and their cygnets, the cycle of life as trees threw out green leaves that, as the year passed, turned to golds and reds in the Autumn and fell to the floor, brown and dry, crunching under his feet. The number of times he was caught and punished by his parents, who wanted him to be someone in spite of his heritage. Mixed race was counted as black, but they always believed in him. They would have liked him to go into medicine, but he was not too good at science so he didn't.

He tried to think what he had finally decided would be his position in life, he had done so at his leisure, it was to be a momentous decision and it had to be the right one, no turning back from his path, but for the life of him he could not think, come to that, never mind what he was, the question was, who was he?

He stood and looked up at the sky, just visible through the canopy of leaves, and rubbed the back of his head. It hurt. Pulling his hand away he looked at it, red, wet and sticky; blood.

'Hm...' he wondered, 'how did that happen?'

He continued to stagger through the trees, wondering if he would find some people to help him.

The light was beginning to fade as he found a road. Perhaps a car would pass and pick him up, take him to someone who could help him.

His legs were beginning to ache, his shoulders slumped and he felt dizzy. He passed a house where the lights were on, perhaps they would help him. He dragged himself up the drive and knocked at the door. It seemed like forever before a woman opened the door and looked him up and down.

'Please,' he tried to say, 'can you ...'

But before he could finish the sentence she shouted at him,

'Be off with you!' She waved her fist at him, 'no beggars here!'

Her words didn't make sense to him, it was as if she was speaking another language, they were garbled and muffled, but her gestures told him he would get no help there. He staggered back down onto the road and continued as best he could. Two cars passed but did not stop, perhaps he did look like a beggar, after all. He paused at another driveway. There was a shiny plaque on the gate post, but the letters kept leaping about. Still, he could but try.

He stood in the porch, there was a chair he could wait in if his knock wasn't answered swiftly. He knocked and heard a voice from inside,

'I'll get it.' It sounded cheerful, like his mum did. The door opened, a lady with green eyes and a smile looked at him, but she didn't turn him away, instead she turned into the house and shouted,

'Lucien! Charlie! It's Ned!' She put her arms round him and guided him inside, then it all went black.

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'Bloody hell!' Lucien exclaimed as he took the young officer from Jean's arms and lifted him into his own. Jean opened the guest room door and Lucien took him and gently placed him on the bed.

'Doc?' Charlie gasped, 'what happened?'

'God knows,' Lucien said, taking the bowl of warm water Jean had fetched and proceeded to clean up the head wound. 'Was he going anywhere? Had he been sent on a call?'

'Not to my knowledge,' Charlie started to help Jean undress him. 'In fact, I think he was going off duty.'

Ned mumbled something,

'Sorry mum,' it sounded like, 'didn't mean it.'

'Ned, it's Mrs Blake.' Jean said, gently, 'what happened, dear?'

'Head,' he muttered, before blacking out again.

'I need an x-ray of his head.' Lucien wiped his hands. 'That's a nasty wound.'

'Charlie,' Jean thrust a pair of Lucien's pyjamas at him, 'dress him in these, they're too big but his clothes are wet, I'll call an ambulance.' She left the room and went to make the call, leaving Charlie and Lucien to finish making the young man comfortable.

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Ned stirred, he felt warm and dry. He opened his eyes, and coughed lightly,

'Mrs Blake?' Jean turned and smiled, she had sat most of the night by his side. His parents had been informed but may not be able to come to see him for a few days.

'Ned,' She went to him and stroked his forehead, 'how are you feeling?'

'Um,' he thought about this, 'bit of a headache.'

'That all?' She smiled again.

'I guess.' He whispered. 'Er...how did I get here?'

'You arrived at our house last night, half conscious, your uniform jacket gone, and soaked to the skin.' She pulled her chair close to the bed and sat holding his hand. 'Where had you been?'

'Was going to see my girl.' Ned blushed. 'Don't remember anything else.' He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

'Rest now.' She whispered.

She sat back in her chair, dreadfully tired. She had insisted she stay, if Ned woke during the night she would be a face he knew and in his confused state wasn't that right?

The door opened and Lucien slipped in, smiling. He crossed the room and bent to kiss his wife.

'I'll just check him over,' he smiled, 'then I'm taking you home.'

'He came to,' she told him, 'said he was going to see his girl. But he doesn't remember anything else.'

Lucien did his regular checks, Ned moaned when he shone a light into each eye. His x-rays had shown a fracture at the back of his head and a little swelling in the brain, but not enough to warrant surgery.

'How's he doing?' Jean asked.

'Not too bad.' Lucien admitted, 'time will tell, but for now, he's ok.' He turned and held out his hand to her. As she stood to go she turned to the bed,

'Ned, I'll be back later.' She slipped her hand through Lucien's arm and allowed him to take her home.

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Lucien made Jean some toast and tea then sent her to bed. She was too tired to argue and fell, still in her slip, into bed. He smiled as he pulled the covers over her and kissed her temple.

Down at the station Chief Inspector Lawson had everyone in the office. What did they know about Ned's girlfriend? But Ned hadn't said anything, fearing teasing, albeit, good natured. Everyone agreed Ned was a good copper, diligent and thorough, but personally he was rather shy.

'He lives in the boarding house,' Charlie offered, 'since his parents moved away, to help his sister with her children.'

'They've been contacted, but it's where he was last night that we really need to know.' Matthew looked at the officers.

'Would you like me to see if he'll tell me?' Charlie offered, 'the alternative is Jean, but she sat with him all night so she's probably been sent to bed by the doc.'

'Do that, Davies.' Matthew said. 'The rest of you, his jacket is missing, with it I suspect his wallet. Get going.'

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Charlie stood at the foot of the bed. Ned was awake but still a little confused.

'Ned, mate,' Charlie said, quietly, 'what happened?'

'Dunno.' Ned muttered, but Charlie didn't believe him and he was sure it was something to do with his girl. Ned closed his eyes, he didn't want to discuss it with his colleague. Charlie didn't want to press him, the doc wouldn't be too happy if he upset his patient. He had an idea why Ned wouldn't speak, he'd heard Charlie get ribbed when he was seen with Mattie, and even worse when he was seen with the Boss's niece, Rose. He'd leave it to Jean, she was bound to get something out of him. Leaving the hospital he bumped into Lucien and admitted he'd been to see Ned.

'Won't say a word, doc.' Charlie told him, 'D'you think Jean might be able to get him to open up, when she's rested?'

'I'll see if she'll try.' Lucien smiled, 'she'll use the motherly touch.' He headed into the hospital to see to other patients and then call in on Ned. Like everyone else he was sure it was to do with a girl, and probably family disapproval.

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Jean prepared a light lunch for herself and her husband. She was going to ask if she should go and see the young policeman again. Perhaps take him some toiletries.

Lucien arrived and was relieved to see his wife was not too jaded from her night's vigil.

'Has he said anything more?' she asked.

'Won't say where he was,' Lucien swallowed, 'Charlie tried. I think he's worried he'll get teased.'

'He's a sensitive soul,' Jean agreed. 'I thought he might need some toiletries and fresh pyjamas.'

'Probably, but Jean,' He looked at her, 'do you think you could do the mother thing. Try and get him to talk. Whoever did this could have killed him.'

'I'll try. Perhaps tell him how Christopher got a beating by one of his girlfriends' brothers once. He hadn't done anything. Bill Hobart dealt with that, if I remember rightly.' She smiled as she recalled the incident. 'The girl's brothers weren't too keen on her seeing a farm boy, as he was then.' Lucien raised his eyebrows.

'I'll take you to the boarding house.' Lucien suggested,' you can pick up his things from his room.'

'Alright,' They washed the dishes and Jean got her coat and handbag.

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Ned had eaten a little lunch when Jean arrived. He looked a little better and was quite glad to see Mrs Blake. She wouldn't pry too much, but it was easier to talk to her than, say, Charlie or Bill.

'How're you feeling, Ned?' she asked quietly.

'A bit better, thanks, Mrs Blake.' He tried a smile. 'The headache's nearly gone.'

'Good.' She sat in the chair next to the bed, 'I've brought you some clean pyjamas, and your toiletries. Dr Blake took me to your boarding house.'

Ned looked a little embarrassed.

'Don't worry,' she smiled and patted his hand, 'your room is a lot tidier than my boys' used to be.'

He began to relax.

'Ned, dear,' She help his hand, 'I know you don't want to talk to Charlie, or Sergeant Hobart, but we really need to know what happened.' She felt him tense up, 'you wouldn't want whoever to do this to someone else, would you?'

'If the police go to my girl's house she'll get into trouble.' Ned whispered, as if the walls were listening. 'Her brothers are afraid she'll marry and leave and then there'll be nobody to wash and cook for them.'

'Is that what you want, Ned?' Jean asked, gently, 'to get married.'

'Yes'm.' He smiled. 'I've got her a ring, but she daren't wear it. I know we could get a little place of our own if we got married. We don't want much, Mrs Blake.' A tear made its way down his cheek.

Jean had known Ned since he was a little boy, he was not a tearaway, would not leave his wife to do everything, he was gentle and kind and she had seen his patience with small children when they were in trouble.

'Ned,' She looked at him, 'you need to tell me where the house is.'

'My girl...'

'Will be perfectly safe,' She assured him, 'Chief Inspector Lawson will make sure of it.'

Ned gave in, as Lucien said, she could be most persuasive. She patted his hand as she left

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'So how do we go about this?' Charlie asked as he looked at the map. They were heading out to the White Swan Reservoir area, a smallholding, Ned had said, run by the Roberts brothers and their sister, Elsie.

'Break down?' Suggested Matthew.

'Gotta be convincing.' Lucien strolled in with Jean.

'I could do it.' Jean said. 'Run out of fuel, get a puncture.'

'Jean,' Matthew looked at her, 'I don't really think that's wise.'

'I dunno, Boss.' Charlie grinned, 'as long as there's someone close behind her...'

'Just a minute,' Lucien interrupted, 'that's my wife you're talking about!'

'And she's here.' Jean batted at him, 'so don't talk about me like that!'

'Jean...' Lucien looked at her, worried.

'Lucien,' She held his arm, 'if I break down within walking distance, and Charlie is behind me, or drives past, or whatever, I can go up to the house and ask for assistance.'

Lucien took some convincing it would work and he insisted on going with them. Jean was going to take their car and before she got to the farm she would stop and one of the men would deflate the tyre. She would then drive up to the gate of the smallholding and stop.

'Don't drive too fast, Jean,' Matthew advised, 'it won't be too easy to handle with a flat.'

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Jean pulled up at a little clump of trees and sat there, she wasn't going to admit it to Charlie or, heaven forbid, Lucien, but she was a little apprehensive. She hoped neither would notice her, not very calm, manner, so she didn't speak to them.

Charlie leant in through the window,

'Right, take it easy,' he warned,' the tracks a bit skiddy, so don't park in a ditch!' He smiled, she was a remarkable woman, his landlady. Jean gave him a half hearted smile and wound the window up, before driving off. It was true, what Charlie said, the car was heavy and not as easy to control, it wouldn't be far from the truth to say she needed help.

She pulled up at the bottom of the drive to a small house. Actually she skidded and nearly hit the gate post, but the brakes held. She got out, shaking, and that was no acting. She walked up to the front door and knocked. The house was tidy, a little shabby but she could see someone tried to keep the place smart. The door was eventually opened by a young woman, about nineteen, Jean guessed.

'Oh, hello.' Jean smiled, 'I'm sorry to trouble you but I appear to have a flat tyre. I was wondering if there was anyone here who could help me.'

'Er...' the girl looked nervous and peered round Jean, presumably looking for someone else. On seeing Jean was alone she visibly relaxed, 'one of my brothers will do it for you. Come in a moment, I'll get him.'

Jean stepped into a small hall, clean, no rugs or carpet. The girl left her there and went to the back of the house.

'Stan!' She called, 'Stan!'

A man appeared, cleaning his hands with an oily rag.

'What do you want?' He growled at her, 'I'm busy.'

'This lady has a flat tyre.' The girl, who Jean assumed was Elsie, waved her hand in her direction. 'Can you see to it for her, please.'

'I'm terribly sorry to bother you.' Jean smiled her sweetest smile at Stan, but he was really quite frightening. Tall, muscular, wearing old dirty trousers and a singlet, he was twice the size of Ned. If he'd taken his fists to the young constable it was no wonder he was dazed and confused. Elsie looked worried, she was obviously living in fear of her brother. Jean wondered what the others were like, and how many. As he passed her he held out his hands for the keys.

'I've just made some tea,' Elsie broke through her worries, 'would you like a cup?'

'That's very kind of you, dear.' Jean smiled at her again, she could see why Ned liked her. She followed her through to the kitchen and sat down at a scrubbed table. There was not much income, she thought, everything was very clean but old and worn. Jean's tea was given to her in a cup that didn't match the saucer but Elsie's had a chip at the rim.

'My name's Elsie.' She broke the ensuing silence.

'Pleased to meet you, I'm Jean.' She smiled.

'Where are you going?' Elsie asked, 'only we don't get many passer's by here.'

'Truthfully, I think I took a wrong turn, I was supposed to pick up a friend on Clarks road, at the bus stop there.' Jean smiled, 'My husband says I have a terrible sense of direction.'

'Well, you're not too far away.' Elsie smiled back, 'when Stan has done the tyre I'll give you directions.'

'That's very kind of you,' Jean put her cup down, 'I don't want to put you to anymore trouble.'

'It's no trouble.' Elsie smiled, she rather liked this visitor, and told her so, 'it's nice to have a visitor, I don't have a neighbour to talk to, it's just me and my brothers.'

'My neighbours are too interested in what I do.' Jean laughed, 'they've always been rather nosy.'

'I suppose that's the downside of that.' Elsie agreed. 'but sometimes it would be nice to have someone take notice of you.'

'Surely you get to go into town, once in a while?' Jean suggested. As a young girl Jean took every opportunity to escape her chores.

'I did.' Elsie's face dropped, 'then I met someone and my brothers started escorting me.' She looked at Jean, she so wanted someone to talk to and this woman was a complete stranger. Could she trust her with her story.

'This someone you met...' Jean encouraged her. Stan wouldn't be back for some time, Charlie and the men were seeing to that.

Elsie looked over her shoulder, 'He's a police officer,' she whispered. 'We want to marry, but...'

'Well,' Jean smiled, 'at least he's a pillar of the community.'

'Oh Jean,' and she started to cry, 'he's so sweet and gentle, but my brothers won't have it.' She got up and went into another room. She returned holding Ned's uniform jacket, cleaned and repaired, beautifully. 'Will you see he gets this.' She put it on the table.

'Why don't you come with me and give it to him yourself?' Jean took her hand.

'I can't.'

'You can,' Jean inhaled, 'Ned is ok. In hospital, but he will be alright.'

'You know him?' Elsie brightened, she'd seen the state her beau was in when her brothers kicked him down the road.

'He made it to our house, dazed and confused. My husband is a doctor and the police surgeon.' Jean explained, 'it's taken me until today to get the truth out of him, he's been protecting you. My flat, a ruse to get to see you. The police will have arrested Stan for assault.'

'But the others...' Elsie gasped, 'they're out in the field.'

'Far enough away from the house?' Jean hoped.

'Yes. They will come back for dinner, in about an hour.' Elsie nodded.

'Time to pack, if you really want to marry Ned' Jean stood up.

'But where will I go?' She began to be excited and nervous at the same time, 'Ned lives in a boarding house.'

'You can lodge with us. We have plenty of room.' Jean offered, 'Now enough talk. Let's get your things.'

'It was all three of them, that beat up Ned.' Elsie told her as they both went to her room. Jean rightly surmised it wouldn't take long, Elsie was unlikely to have much to take. It didn't take long to put her clothes into a battered suitcase, along with a couple of photographs and keepsakes, that was Elsie's life. Back in the kitchen she turned everything off and, with Jean, walked out of her old life towards her new one.

They met Lucien coming up the drive, wondering what was taking his wife so long. They had let Stan change the tyre and then arrested him as Jean had said, then Charlie, Bill and some other officers went over to the others in the field and arrested them as well.

'Lucien,' Jean smiled and introduced Elsie.

'Ah there you are.' He smiled and shook Elsie's hand. 'Lovely to meet you, Elsie. Shall I drive, Jean?'

'Don't you trust me?' She tipped her head to one side, coyly. Lucien just smiled and opened the doors for his passengers.

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Ned was dozing when the door to his room opened.

'In you go,' Jean smiled as she ushered Elsie into the room, following her.

'Ned,' Jean touched his shoulder, 'someone to see you.'

Ned opened his eyes and smiled at Jean, then his smile became a grin as he saw his girl standing shyly to one side.

'Elsie, how?' He gasped.

Jean pulled a chair up for Elsie and left the young couple to talk.

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You can make up your own ending, I like to think, 'Happily Ever After.'


	12. Chapter 12 The Body in the Bin

**Words required:**

mischievous, pronunciation, exaggerate, individual, parliament, environment, restaurant, determined, sufficient, opportunity.

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'A group of owls or rooks,' Jean read out the crossword clue. It wasn't often she got the first try at the puzzle but Lucien had left it lying around while he went to answer the phone and now she had it. She had managed three answers so far.

'Pardon?' Lucien put the phone down having told Alice he would be at the mortuary in the morning. The case they were working on was complicated and Alice had phoned to say the bruises on one individual were maturing nicely.

'The clue is 'a group of owls or rooks.' She turned and smiled at him as he returned to the living room.

'Jean!' Lucien laughed, 'you beat me to it.'

'How often do I get the chance to start the crossword?' She asked, 'you've usually finished it by the time I get to even glance at it.'

He sat next to her and she leant against his shoulder, 'Parliament.' He whispered in her ear, 'the answer is 'parliament.' I suppose because, in the case of owls, they are wise.'

'Whoever said a politician was wise?' Jean filled the boxes in.

'Cheeky.' He kissed the top of her head.

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Alice and Lucien looked at the body on the table. He was young, fairly fit looking and Alice did not exaggerate when she said there were a lot of bruises, it would be easier to say where he _hadn't_ been hit that where he had. Someone had been determined to make sure this lad suffered.

'X-rays, Dr Harvey?' Lucien sighed.

'Like a jigsaw puzzle.' She put the films up on the light box.

Lucien stood and looked at the pictures of the mangled skeleton, a jigsaw puzzle was a good description. The young man had been left behind a local restaurant, shoved into a garbage bin, a leg and arm sticking out. It was a badly lit environment, very little room to manoeuvre. Hobart and Charlie had done their best but they were going to take the opportunity of early morning sun to search the area. Ned and Chief Inspector Lawson were going to interview the restaurant manager and kitchen staff. The place was closed until the body had been identified and the murderer apprehended.

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The manager sat in his office with a face as black as thunder, this incident was not helping him turn a profit, and he told the Chief Inspector so.

'Mr Robichowd,' Ned opened his notebook as the manager rolled his eyes.

'You do not speak French, Constable.' He said, grimacing at Ned's pronunciation of his name, 'Rob ee cho' He enunciated.

'Mr Robichaud,' Ned continued and slipped the photograph of the dead boy across the desk, 'do you know this man?'

'No,' Robichaud snapped, 'now, go away, I have work to do.'

'I have work to do, too, Sir.' Ned replied icily, 'My work is to find out who this person is and how he died.'

Matthew stood and watched Ned, it was not often the young constable was given the chance to interview anyone at the scene of a crime. He was keeping his head rather well.

'Now,' Ned continued, 'who had access to your bins?'

'Anyone can get to the bins,' Robichaud huffed.

'I beg to differ, sir,' Ned countered, politely, 'the gates to the alley way were locked. Our doctor and officers had to go through the kitchen when your cook reported finding the body.' He stood and waited for the man to say something, but he continued to shuffle papers on his desk and ignore Ned. Ned tapped his notebook with his pencil, then slapped the book on the desk.

'Sir, I don't know how they treat the police in France but here in Australia we expect to be treated with respect.' He leaned down and stared at the man, 'now I can suggest that this restaurant is closely looked at by the health people, maybe have your books checked by the tax officials.' He stood up, the Frenchman was small and rotund, even if he did decide to make a run for it, Ned knew he wouldn't get far,

'He has been a waiter, not a good one,' he grunted, 'I sack him.'

'When?' Ned carried on staring.

'Last week, sometime, I don't remember.' Robichaud waved Ned away.

'Well, you'd better start remembering!' Matthew was getting annoyed with this jumped up little incomer and his dismissal of the young officer. Ned watched his superior officer with a smile. Lawson was a good boss but he didn't like people who stonewalled investigations.

Robichaud looked up at Matthew, his mouth open in surprise.

'Books!' Matthew yelled, 'records of wages paid! Come on, get 'em out!'

The books were thrown onto the desk and Matthew opened them. He couldn't fault the meticulous accounts, but what he was looking for was the last payment made to the young lad, who Robichaud now told them was called Graham Stubbs.

'So his last pay was issued on Friday, last week.' Matthew ran his finger down the figures on the page.

'It says so.' Robichaud grunted.

'Constable Simmons,' Matthew turned to his young colleague, 'go and talk to the cook, and then the other staff.'

'Boss,' Ned left, he knew he had to get sufficient information to start to close the case. He didn't like Robichaud, he was rude; being rude would not endear you to the police.

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The cook was a pleasant chap, they sat over coffee and one of his pastries, which was delicious.

'Graham was a mischievous sort of lad. He was liked by all the customers, passing the time of day with them, helping them to choose their dishes.' He smiled. 'The boss didn't like that much friendliness, he said it was not proper to be so familiar. But it was Graham that shared his tips with us. He said we deserved it, we cooked the meal he only served it.' The cook looked down, 'I'm gonna miss the kid.' he added, sorrowfully.

'Any idea who would want to kill him?' Ned asked.

'Apart from the boss, no.' He replied.

'So when was Graham last here?'

'Two nights ago,' The cook said, 'he came to ask the boss for a reference, he had a job interview.'

'What was Mr Robichaud's reaction?' Ned thought he had a good idea.

'He told him to leave, he was not getting a reference.' Cook sat up, thinking about the scene the previous night, 'he wasn't friendly. In fact he was downright nasty. He chased him through the kitchen shouting at him and shaking his fists.'

Ned sat and thought,

'Why chase him through here? The only way out would be over the gates, and he was found in the bin.'

'Dunno.' Cook sat back in his chair and thought, then it hit him, 'Graham never came back through, the boss came through, muttering something in French and dusting off his hands.' He looked at Ned, 'you don't suppose..?'

'Back in a tick.' Ned got up and shot out of the kitchen back to the office.

'Boss!' He called to Matthew, 'look at his hands.'

Ned may have been the quiet one in the office but he listened, a lot. Especially to Dr Blake.

Matthew grabbed Robichaud's hands; bruised and scraped knuckles.

'It was you!' He shouted.

'All he was doing was trying to make a living,' Ned looked at him, 'you didn't like how friendly he got with the customers, well I don't know about you, Chief Inspector, but I like a friendly waiter, makes me want to come back.' Not that Ned ate out often.

'Too right, constable, too right.' Matthew glared at Robichaud, 'right you, you're under arrest for the murder of Graham Stubbs. Take him to the cells, lad.'

'Boss.' Ned grabbed the man's arm.

'Oh, and constable,' Matthew stopped him, 'well done.'

'Thanks boss.'

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These challenges are as much a challenge to me as they are to the pupils.


	13. Chapter 13 Chaperone

Words required:

Stationary, stationery, privilege, niece, parallel, tyranny, guardian

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 **The gravestones stood silently, row upon row, like soldiers long forgotten, a scream shattered the silence...**

Major strolled along, head held high with a grin on his face, if it was possible for a cat to grin, but there he was, the grinning guardian of Genevieve's grave.

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Jean had laughed when she had first noticed the cat follow her on her weekly visit to place flowers on Lucien's mother's grave. He would sit and watch this curious habit, motionless, like a statue. Then follow her home again.

That was during the day.

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A young couple were strolling hand in hand through the cemetery, so intent on gazing lovingly into each other's eyes that neither noticed the stationary animal lurking in the moonless night, amongst the memorials to the friends and families of the Ballarat residents. As they passed Genevieve's grave, Major let out a piercing howl, scaring them out of their wits and causing them to flee, screaming like banshees, through the trees and out onto the road that ran past the cemetery.

The story went round Ballarat like wildfire, that there was a malevolent spirit roaming the graveyard. In the police station Matthew, Charlie and Lucien were discussing the several complaints about the disturbances and came to the conclusion that it was probably some youths having a laugh, larking about, so they set up a patrol, supposedly for a week. Matthew's niece, Rose, got wind of it and persuaded her uncle to let her join them. He had no fear that she would be scared, in fact it was the kind of thing she was likely to get up to, having that sense of humour, but he did let her know it was a privilege to be allowed out on patrol with the police, and she was not to publish anything in the Courier without his say so. She agreed.

The first night yielded nothing. Bill and Ned were on patrol and all they noticed was the Blake's cat out for his evening stroll. Bill shook his head, even the darn cat thought he owned the place. They noticed he sat for a while at one grave before he wandered off, presumably home to his chair in the living room.

The next few night's also were quiet, all patrols reported nothing, except the cat. Jean and Lucien discussed this one night over sherry and whisky.

'It only happens when couples are strolling there,' Jean observed.

'Not somewhere I would take my lady-love, for a romantic stroll.' Lucien commented.

'Glad to hear it,' Jean would prefer a walk round the lake, herself.

'Perhaps that's what we need to happen.' Charlie had wandered in, glad it wasn't his turn for the midnight stroll. 'I'll suggest it, maybe if Rose and I go for a stroll tomorrow, we'll get to the bottom of this tyranny.'

'Oh I don't think it's that bad,' Lucien protested, 'it's not some despot trying to frighten the good folks of Ballarat into submission.'

'Dunno about that, doc,' Charlie took the offered whisky, 'nobody walks through the cemetery these days.'

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Matthew had agreed to Charlie's idea, he had got used to the idea that one of his officers was dating Rose, and Charlie was a good copper. When he'd mentioned it, in passing, she had grinned and said she could date Bill if he would prefer. He'd laughed at her and said that wouldn't be necessary.

Charlie picked Rose up and they walked into town, planning dinner at the Chinese restaurant before walking back through the cemetery.

'So what do you think it is?' Rose asked.

'I think the boss is right,' Charlie mused, 'it's some kids larking about.'

'Well, it's interesting that it's stopped now there's a patrol.' Rose admitted this was more than likely to be the case. 'Are you going to arrest them?'

'Nah!' Charlie laughed at the thought, 'just give them a ticking off. Nobody died, nobody's been hurt. Maybe threaten them with letting their parents know.'

'If I get any decent pictures I'll persuade Edward to publish, name and shame?' Rose suggested.

'Good idea,' Charlie nodded as he paid the bill, 'ready to go ghost hunting?'

'Yep.' She linked her arm through his and they wandered out into the night. 'Good night for it.' She observed, 'no moon, cloud cover.'

'Ha ha.' Charlie smiled.

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They wandered hand in hand between the parallel rows of graves, apparently gazing into each other's eyes. Once or twice they stopped for a quick kiss. As they passed Genevieve's grave they moved into the clump of nearby trees for a proper kiss. Just as Charlie's hand slid a little further down Rose's back the piercing howl flung them apart in shock.

'Bloody hell!' Charlie yelled and looked around, over Rose's head then he laughed.

'Major!' he called, 'come here, you daft animal.'

Major came and wound himself round their ankles and Charlie bent down and picked him up.

'Well, it looks like this is the culprit,' Charlie grinned, 'want to publish and be damned.'

'Jean said he follows her every week,' Rose whispered, slowly regaining her composure. 'Let's take him home.'

'Mmm...' Charlie mused, 'Jean's going to be embarrassed about this.'

'Why?' Rose was surprised at his thought, 'not even Jean Blake can make a cat behave.'

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'Hello, you two.' Jean looked up from her knitting, 'nice evening?'

Charlie held out Major, 'Found the culprit.'

Lucien burst out laughing, 'Really!'

'Just by your mother's grave.' Rose sat next to Jean and grinned, 'that clump of trees, just right for courting couples,' she went a little pink, 'he waits until you're 'preoccupied' and then howls.'

Jean grinned, 'Well, I never.' She giggled, 'Major saving the reputations of some of the girls.'

'Perhaps he should have his own stationery, 'Major the Cat, Chaperone to the young ladies of Ballarat.'' Lucien suggested, raising his glass to the animal, now sleeping on his chair, as usual.

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A request/challenge from my yr 6 pupil, for a Major the Cat story.


	14. Chapter 14 Little Matilda O'Brien

**Words required:**

managing, changing, writing, deciding, smiling, baking, liking, tuning, hoping, sliding, careful, peaceful, wasteful, achievement, replacement, advertisement, involvement, desperately, definitely, accurately.

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It was a bright, frosty morning. The pavement glistened like a carpet of crushed diamonds in the early morning sunshine .

A smiling Matilda O'Brien skipped along the pavement relishing the peaceful start to the day. Unusually, for a eight year old, she enjoyed silence more that chattering voices. Today was one of her favourite days in school, the day they got the subject for their homework writing task. She was good at storytelling, a vivid imagination born of listening to the housekeeping staff talking, tales cook would tell when she went into the kitchen to sample the days baking. She had a liking for the fresh biscuits cook made and the chocolate cake. Matilda had a sweet tooth.

At school Matilda had a large group of friends, all from a similar background. Matilda's father was a rising politician, although the youngster wasn't quite sure what that meant. Her other friend's fathers held similar positions in Melbourne, on the council or in the government and were often at the house for dinner parties, or meetings. Her mother told her, her father's involvement in these meetings was important to the people of Melbourne because he had their best interests at heart. Matilda was still confused but stopped asking the questions which both her parents brushed off while managing to bore her at the same time.

The subject of the writing homework this particular week was: 'To write story about a musician.' They were to write neatly, use proper punctuation and spell accurately, which would be an achievement for Matilda, she wrote too quickly to bother about correct spelling, as long as it looked right she was happy. The only problem with that, was that Matilda desperately wanted one of her stories to win the weekly chocolate biscuit her teacher awarded to the best story, and although her stories were often the most interesting, her spelling stopped her getting her hands on the prize.

She sat at the kitchen table with cook and the housemaid, Betty, while she wrote her story. It was the best place for her.

It had everything a good story should have, she thought. It was about an aspiring pianist who made ends meet by tuning the pianos of rich people (the piano tuner had been that day) and how he was hoping that one day his talent would be discovered. Cook smiled at the ideas that flowed from the child's pencil, Matilda would never make a concert pianist, she wasn't interested in practising. In her story the piano tuner saw an advertisement for a replacement pianist in a concert, and he tried for and was lucky enough to be given the job.

Matilda was happy with her story and asked cook to read it. Cook agreed it was a good story but suggested she write it out again, and she would correct the spellings for her. Mostly it was just the right letters in the wrong order. Matilda stuck out her bottom lip, re-writing was a wasteful use of paper and her time. But cook smiled and promised her two pieces of her favourite meringue dessert she was preparing for that night's dinner party.

Matilda's eyes positively gleamed and she did as suggested.

'Much better, Miss Matilda,' cook said and put in front of her one of the pieces of dessert. 'One now, dear, then the other after you've had your dinner.'

'Thank you, cookie,' the child picked up her spoon and tucked in, clearing the plate so well Betty said she needn't bother washing it.

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Matilda was not pleased that her parents were having another dinner party to which she was not invited. So between the end of doing her homework and bedtime she was bored. Her mother was busy changing, how long that took! She thought her mother was beautiful and wore such lovely dresses and she loved to watch how careful she was when she put her makeup on and the time she took deciding which lipstick to wear. Sometimes she would let Matilda have some on, but such a light touch she barely noticed it, so she would go off to play on her own, or read a book.

She was at the top of the stairs when she heard her father come through the door, she always got told off for running down to greet him and anywhere in the house, so today she had a better idea.

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Her bottom hurt after the smacking she got for sliding down the banister, but she wouldn't let her father see her cry. Each word of rebuke accompanied by her father's hand,

'Don't,' smack! 'ever,' smack! 'let,' smack! 'me,' smack! 'catch,' smack! 'you,' smack 'doing,' smack! 'that,' smack! 'again!' smack!

Martin O'Brien never did smack his daughter again, not that she changed into a good little girl overnight. Oh no! Deciding she would definitely not get caught again she grew up strong and sometimes defiant, choosing a career as a nurse over marriage to a young politician of her father's choosing and moving to Ballarat. She refused to answer to Matilda, preferring to be known as Mattie to one and all.

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Well, Mattie at eight...


	15. Chapter 15 Eyes

**Words required:**

acknowledge, grievance, religious, weather, liaise, occupant, irrational, relive, memento, special

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Hundreds of eyes peered at her through the darkness in the alley. How many cats where there ? Why were they all here together?

Now Alice wasn't afraid of cats, she could take them or leave them, she preferred a dog, but, to be stared at by so many, down a dark alley, where she was supposed to be attending a crime scene, well, she had to acknowledge to herself, it was creepy!

'Doctor,' Matthew Lawson's soft voice made her jump, 'not afraid of cats, are we?' He teased.

'That would be irrational, Superintendant,' she pursed her lips but he knew she wasn't being serious. Over time their relationship had become special, well to him, anyway, and he quite liked the idea that when Blake was out of town he could call on Alice Harvey to step into the breach, but this was the first time he had called her out.

'The body's this way, doc.' Bill Hobart called from somewhere in the dark. As Matthew and Alice moved into the alley the cats hissed but backed off. Hobart was standing over the body of a young man, who, according to his wallet, was not a resident of Ballarat A Sikh, Alice thought, although his turban had been pulled from his head and thrown towards the wall. She looked at his head, but he did not have the customary topknot, his hair was neatly trimmed, against the Sikh rules.

Alice walked around the body, taking in the sight, how the body lay; straight out, legs straight and arms crossed over his chest. In his hands was a crucifix.

'Hmm..' she pointed at the object, 'someone with a religious grievance, perhaps? And yet, he isn't a Sikh, just dressed as one...strange.'

'Could be.' Hobart nodded.

She bent down and looked closer at his chest, taking the crucifix out with gloved hands and dropping it into an envelope Matthew thoughtfully held out to her. She moved the hands and peered at the chest. His tunic was beautiful cream silk fastened with expensive gold buttons. She could see no sign of injury, anywhere, in fact. She checked the rest of the body, it appeared that he had been placed there, possibly killed elsewhere.

There were signs only of paw prints on the damp dust on the ground.

Alice stood and thought, 'Given that the weather has been fine up to today...,' she pointed out, 'can you life his shoulder, Sergeant, Please?'

Bill did as asked, revealing dry dust, untainted by the recent rain,

'Hm, just as I thought,' she folded her arms, and put her finger on her chin, 'he was placed here sometime before the rain. His clothing is dry, and so is the ground under him, so he wasn't killed here.'

'Time if death, doctor?' Matthew asked, she was as bad as Blake for too much thinking at the scene.

'Not sure, yet, Superintendant,' she put her hands in her pockets, 'I'll have a better idea when I open him up.' She waved the waiting ambos over and watched them lift him onto the stretcher.

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Autopsy was quiet without Lucien, so she had no one with which to debate the puzzle. She removed the clothes and examined every square inch of them. The front was clean, almost surgically clean, but the back was dusty from the ground, as was to be expected. She bagged the tunic and trousers, wondering if anyone had thought to pick up the turban.

On examination of the body she found a tiny mark in the centre of his chest. Using her magnifying glass it was a puncture wound small enough to be an injection site. She swabbed the residue and transferred it to a slide for the microscope. Nothing she wouldn't expect on a skin swab. Next she decided to take a blood sample, and send in for a toxicology screening. She drew a sample but it wasn't blood! She squirted it into a dish and looked closely at it, then smelt it, embalming fluid. She screwed her nose up just as Matthew walked in. He grinned at her expression.

'So,' He broke the silence and her thoughts, 'what do we have?'

'He's been embalmed, professionally.' She stated, glaring at him, 'and, really, Superintendant, do you have to creep up on me, like that?'

'Sorry. Embalmed you say.' Matthew scratched his head, 'so he was dumped then?'

'But why?' She put the sample down, 'and, no, I don't know when he died, and because he has been embalmed I won't be able to tell.'

'Bugger!'

'I've yet to open him up to find out why he died, but I'm not holding out any hopes I will get an answer.' Alice got ready to cut into the body so Matthew left,

'I'll see if any of the funeral homes has lost a body,' He muttered as he left the room, picking up the bag of clothes on his way out.

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Alice had finished her autopsy but it was as she told Matthew, she didn't know when he died or how. He seemed to be in perfect physical condition, and because of the treatment to the body there was no bruising and she couldn't find any scars. She left her report on Matthew's desk and walked home.

She passed the alley where the Sikh had been found and instinctively turned into it. There didn't seem to be as many cats this time, but there were still quite a few. She scanned the site, footprints from the police and ambos, more paw prints but nothing she hadn't seen on her first visit.

There was a giggling behind her and she turned to see a group of young children.

'Now, then,' she went up to them, 'what's so funny?' She was quite gentle as they were children, but she wanted to know why they were giggling.

'All them cats, miss.' One girl pointed, 'd'ye think it's a witches alley?'

'No,' Alice laughed, 'I just think the cats have found somewhere nobody bothers them. There are rather a lot aren't there?'

The children ran off, and she went towards where she had seen the turban. It had gone so she assumed that the police had picked it up.

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Matthew was perusing Alice's report when she went into the office the following morning.

'Ah, good morning, Dr Harvey,' He smiled, 'so we have a body dump.'

'Looks like it,' She sat in the chair usually occupied by Lucien, 'but I can't work out why he's dressed that way, why he had been embalmed, which isn't the Sikh way.' She looked at him for ideas. 'Oh, by the way, what happened to his turban?'

'Charlie,' Matthew looked over at the sergeant, 'didn't you have his effects boxed up?'

Charlie nodded in the direction of the door, and pointed, as he finished his phone conversation.

'Simmons,' Matthew raised his eyebrows at Ned, 'bring it over, please.'

Ned brought the box and put it on Lawson's desk.

Alice started to look through the clothing and found the turban at the bottom. She wasn't sure what she expected but it certainly wasn't to be peered at by a pair of blue eyes.

'Oh!' She gasped, 'there appears to be an occupant. Something has made its home in here.' She reached in and retrieved a tiny black kitten. 'Well, well, what have we here.' She smiled and pulled the animal to her chest where it nuzzled under her chin.

'Who the bloody hell was supposed to check this stuff?' Matthew blasted the officers in the room.

Everybody looked anywhere but at him.

'Here, doctor, Ned'll take it down to the animal shelter.' Matthew held out his hand.

Alice didn't know why she did what she did next, only that it surprised her as much as anyone else.

'It's quite alright, Superintendant,' She kept hold of the creature, 'I'll see to him. Charlie, a saucer of milk, I think.'

Charlie got the milk, as stunned as everyone else and put it on Lawson's desk. Alice put the kitten next to it and it lapped thirstily, then sat and licked it's paws.

'Boss,' Charlie interrupted the silence that had fallen due to the unexpected tenderness of the normally acerbic Dr Harvey, 'that call was from the funeral home, they want to know if we've found a body. Dressed like a Sikh. Apparently it was his last fancy dress costume and he wanted to be buried in the last one he wore.'

'Well that explains the embalming, but not how it ended up in the alley.' Matthew mused.

'More your department than mine, Superintendant,' Alice pointed out picking up the kitten.

'What're you going to do with it.' Matthew asked.

'Keep him.' Alice replied, as if it was obvious. 'Blake always says you should have a memento of your first case. He's mine.'

'Mementoes don't usually need feeding.' Matthew smiled. 'What will you call him?'

She tipped her head and thought, 'Mem.' She decided, 'short for 'memento'.'

'Strange was to relive a case,' Matthew muttered.

'Don't be silly,' she looked up at him, 'there again, he will be a reminder.' She stood up, 'come on Mem, home, via the pet shop.' She sailed out of the office as Matthew shook his head in disbelief.

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Matthew and Charlie interviewed the owner of the Funeral Home and his staff. It turned out it was a prank, played by the driver, bored at the lack of work lately. He was given a strong talking to by his employer and fined for wasting police time. He wouldn't do it again!'

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Alice, now the 'mad cat lady!'


	16. Chapter 16 Lucie-Jean's problem

**Words required:**

letters, words, vowel, consonant, order, alphabet, dictionary, definition, origin, meaning, guide, abbreviation xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 'Grey and foreboding, the castle stood atop the hill looking down across the small town, in the topmost window of the highest tower stood a small boy called...'

Lucien ran his finger under the words as he read the story, Jenny and Lucie-Jean on his lap and Bobby perched on the back of the couch with his legs over his father's shoulders, looking at the book.

'What was he called, papa?' Jenny asked, still staring at where her father's finger had stopped. She was just starting to learn her alphabet and when she looked at letters written down on the page it fascinated her that her papa and mama could make them into words.

'Can he be Frank?' Lucie-Jean asked, thinking of her late father, she loved to put him in the stories mummy read to her.

'What do you think Jenny, Bobby?' He asked his children, 'shall he be Frank this time?' The boy in the story had his name changed regularly; sometimes he was Bobby, sometimes Lucien, sometimes Jack and sometimes Christopher; but up to now he had never been Frank.

'Yes, I think so,' Bobby nodded, grabbing his father's hair to stop himself falling off the back of the couch. 'We haven't had a Frank before.'

Lucien winced and reached up to grab his son's hand, 'Careful son,' He gasped, I'd like to keep my hair for a little longer.'

'Sorry, papa.' Bobby leant forward and kissed the top of Lucien's head like he had seen mama do.

'...Frank,' continued Lucien. 'Frank had been locked in the tower by his wicked step father who wanted his little boy to be king when he grew up.'

'That's mean.' Lucie-Jean observed, even though she had heard the story almost as often and the other two.

'It is, isn't it?' Lucien smiled at her, 'Now Frank loved to look down from his tower over the town. There were winding streets and wibbly-wobbly houses that looked like they would fall down if the house next door wasn't there. He could see the market place that bustled with the townsfolk during the day and just about hear the noise and clamour from where he was, of the shouts of the stall holders and the chatter of the people as they haggled over prices of food and goods of all shapes and sizes.'

Lucie-Jean snuggled into Lucien's side and put her thumb in her mouth, she liked looking at the pictures, the funny shapes that Uncle Lucien ran his finger under jumped about and made her eyes sore. When she had asked Bobby one day what the shapes were he said, with pride, that they were letters and he could read all of them. It had to be said, Bobby was a good reader for his age, probably because his parents had read to him since he first took a book off the shelf and he had watched and listened as stories unfolded before his eyes. Jenny, too, was now starting to take an interest in words, and Bobby had taught her to sing 'The ABC Song', and she would skip around the house merrily singing away, much to her mother's amusement.

'Bobby,' Jean wandered through from the kitchen, 'do you have any spellings to learn tonight?'

'Oh yes, mama,' he scrambled down off the back of the couch and went to get his satchel. 'Here they are,' he waved a sheet of paper. 'I need a pencil, Miss Thompson says we are to fill in the missing constonants and bowels.'

Jean laughed and pulled him to her in a tight hug, 'I think she meant consonants and vowels, sweetie.' She corrected him.

'Yes them,' He sat at the kitchen table and chewed the end of his pencil, 'what are they, mama?'

'Didn't Miss Thompson tell you?'

'Er, probably.' Bobby looked a little guilty, a bright boy, his attention sometimes wandered when he lost interest.

'Vowels are: a, e, i, o, and u, and the consonants are the rest of the letters.' Jean supplied the information and sat next to him while he completed the task.

'Thank you, mama.' Bobby put his work away and went to listen to his papa continue the story. Jean watched and then smiled as she noticed Lucie-Jean had dozed off. She was secure in Lucien's arms so Jean decided to leave her there while she put the finishing touches to the dinner.

'...the king had given the order,' Lucien was saying as Bobby clambered back up to his perch, 'for a grand parade to celebrate his birthday, but poor Frank would not be allowed to attend, meaning he would have to watch from the tower. Frank didn't really mind, it was a good view from where he was.'

'He'd be able to see more from there, wouldn't he, papa?' Bobby suggested, 'like when you put me on your shoulders to see the parade in town.'

'A good thought, son.' Lucien agreed.

'Sorry to interrupt,' Jean stood watching them, 'but dinner is on the table, and it will go cold.' She went over and gently lifted the sleeping Lucie-Jean into her arms and settled her on the couch.

'Poor thing.' Lucien murmured, 'Alice says she's gone back to a poor sleep pattern.'

'Mm...' Jean pulled a blanket over her, 'she has no idea why. She seems happy enough during the day.'

'Perhaps she's worrying about starting school.' They headed to the kitchen, 'she's shy around strangers and knows she won't be in the same class as Jenny.'

'Could be.' Jean agreed.

The dinner table was the place to discuss the happenings of the day, what had Bobby done in school?

'We've been using the word book to find out what some words mean,' Bobby shovelled his dinner into his mouth.

'The dictionary, dear,' Jean reminded him, 'and please don't eat like that, your dinner will not run off the plate.'

'Mm..' he nodded and swallowed, 'that one, sorry, mama.'

'That must be interesting,' Lucien paused, 'learning about the origin of words.'

'What does that mean, papa?' Jenny asked, nibbling some vegetables, she was a much more delicate eater, always had been. Bobby always ate as if someone was going to take his plate away from him before he finished.

'It means where words come from.' He told her, patiently, 'some words started off a different language.'

'Like what, papa?' Bobby wiped the gravy from his plate with his finger, Jean gently tapped it and frowned at him, she had no idea where he got his dreadful table manners from.

'Well,' Lucien thought, he so frequently found himself explaining much more to Bobby than a child of his tender years needed to know, but this time, 'the word 'doctor' comes from the Latin 'docere' meaning to teach.'

'But you don't teach, papa.' Jenny pointed out, 'you mend people.'

'True, sweetheart,' he admitted, 'it came to mean a 'learned person', a clever sides, to you.'

Jean smiled, an easy definition for the children and quite an apt description of her husband she thought.

'What did you do today, Jenny?' Jean asked, taking her daughter's plate to the sink, together with Bobby's.

'Drawing, and letters.' Jenny smiled. 'I drawed a flower.'

'You _drew_ a flower,' Jean corrected her, 'what kind?'

'A begonia,' Jenny laughed, 'a red one.'

'How lovely, darling.' Jean smiled, she always drew begonias, because, she had once informed her mother, they were Jean's favourite. 'Did you do any numbers?'

'Yep.' Jenny drew her small frame up, 'I got ten out of ten in my sums today.'

'Clever girl,' Lucien praised her. Jenny beamed with pride.

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Lucie-Jean woke up and realised she was no longer lying on Uncle Lucien. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Auntie Jean had wrapped her in a blanket and she was nice and warm, but she could hear the others talking in the kitchen. She wondered if mummy had come back from her meeting in Melbourne but on wandering into the kitchen couldn't see her. Jean noticed her, and the disappointed expression on her face. There was definitely something bothering the little girl. Jean went to her and swung her onto her hip, kissing her cheek, she asked her if she had had a nice nap.

'Yes,' she snuggled into Jean who took her up to the bathroom to wash ready for her dinner, which, again, she would have sitting on Jean's lap. Alice too, had noticed how clingy she was getting as the time for her to start school approached, but whatever she did, she could not get out of her what was the problem, just that she didn't want to go. Nobody liked seeing the little girl upset and Alice did wonder if she could keep her back a term. Jean suggested that term would become the next term and the next until Alice got into trouble for not ensuring her daughter was educated. Alice knew she was right and steeled herself for tears, tantrums, sleepless nights and poor eating. She asked Lucien if she could take the first two weeks as leave, so she could take her to school, pick her up and spend the spare time with her. He'd agreed it was probably the best thing she could do.

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Lucie-Jean screamed and lay on the floor kicking and pounding the rug. She had been at school a week, and each day had become harder and harder to get her there. By the end of the week Alice had ended up at Jean's in tears, having left her daughter at the school howling for her. Now Monday morning had come around again and the little girl could not be persuaded to go to school. Alice went to the hall and took Frank's cardigan down off the hook, she kept it there mainly for Lucie-Jean and now she knew she needed it more than ever. She dropped it gently on the screaming child then bent and wrapped her up in it, as tight as she dare, holding her close and kissing her.

'It's alright, sweetheart, sh, now.' Alice sat on the couch and waited until the tantrum subsided to hiccups and sobs.

'No school, mummy, please,' she gasped.

'Not today,' Alice soothed, 'but I do want to go and talk to your teacher. She seemed very nice.'

Alice had noticed the gentle way Miss Adams took her sobbing daughter off her each morning and Jenny had told her she was very kind when you were sad. Miss Adams was very young, her training was very modern, including a lot of play and exploring. She still taught the children their numbers and letters and had not expressed any concerns about Lucie-Jean. She had just noted she was taking time to settle in.

'I won't leave you there.' She assured her.

Alice went to call the school and arranged to see Miss Adams, saying also that she was keeping Lucie-Jean away today, as she was very upset.

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In the classroom at the end of the day Miss Adams sat looking at the concerned woman in front of her. She knew the history, that she had been widowed when her daughter was very young, she worked as a pathologist and that Lucie-Jean spent a lot of time with Dr Blake's children and his wife.

'I don't understand what she is so afraid of.' Alice sighed, 'she seemed so happy until she realised what she would be doing at school.'

'How was that introduced to her?' Miss Adams asked.

'Bobby and Jenny Blake, mainly.' Alice admitted, 'I told her she would make new friends, that Bobby and Jenny would be there too, and she would learn to read and write just like they did.'

'How did she take it?'

'Not well.' Alice told how when she had mentioned learning to read that the little girl had stated she didn't want to, she liked listening to stories.

'Lucie-Jean, dear,' Miss Adams addressed the child, clinging to her mother, 'can you go and find your letter card.' She looked at Alice as Lucie-Jean slowly and reluctantly slid off Alice's lap and went to the letters hanging up, 'I give each child a card with their initial letter on, to hang up when they come in, in the morning. They are all different colours, and we have two children with names beginning with L in the class, Laura being the other. Ah, here she comes.'

Lucie-Jean brought a card with her initial on, it was green.

'You always pick that one, don't you?' Miss Adams smiled, 'why?'

'I like the colour,' Lucie-Jean whispered, 'the letter sits still.'

'Can you go and find the one Laura has, please?'

She came back with a yellow one.

'Why don't you pick that one, darling?' Alice asked, 'it's such a lovely sunny colour.'

'The letter slips.'

Alice looked confused, Miss Adams, however, had an idea.

'I am always looking to see where children are happy in their work and where I can help them learn comfortably.' She reached behind her and pulled a book off her shelf. 'I think this is something you should read. I have a feeling Lucie-Jean has something called Irlen's Syndrome, where words seem to move around or, as Lucie-Jean says, slip. Sometimes it appears to cascade off the page, sometimes it just turns round. Some think that coloured filters or coloured lenses in spectacles help, some don't, but not much is really known about it. I think, more by luck than anything else, I put her letter on the right colour. This book is really just a guide to helping children with some problems, but it does touch on this particular syndrome.'

'I've never heard of it.' Alice flicked through the book.

'It's not something that would come up in an autopsy or in a pathology report.' Miss Adams smiled. 'Now I can make sure that she has green paper to work on and I know how to get a filter for her to put over anything she has to read.'

'Will the school recognise it?' Alice was worried that once she moved up into the next class all Miss Adams' work would be tossed aside.

'I have introduced it, but so the children don't know there is something different and tattle tale to their parents, we refer to it by the abbreviation I.S.' Miss Adams looked at Lucie-Jean, 'now miss, let's try using green paper from tomorrow, because I don't want my clever children to be unhappy, eh?'

Lucie-Jean nodded.

'Good girl, that's the ticket.' Miss Adams stood up and extended her hand to Alice, 'don't worry Dr Carlyle, I'll see she isn't bothered about it.'

'Thank you, Miss Adams.' Alice smiled, relieved, 'I was worried she was being bullied.'

'Not in my class, Dr Carlyle,' Miss Adams frowned, 'we don't allow that, do we, Lucie-Jean?'

She just shook her head.

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'...so Frank sat on the top of the dragon's head and held on to its ears,' Lucien read, 'and they flew away over the village with the wibbly-wobbly houses and the noisy market place, leaving the king and his skinny son to live in the castle. Frank did go back after he had travelled far and wide, admired be all because of his friend the dragon, who roared and scared away any nasty people who wanted to fight peaceful villagers.'

'Did he get to be king then, Uncle Lucien?' Lucie-Jean took her thumb out of her mouth, 'What happened to the other king and his skinny son?'

'The king that had locked Frank up in the tower left the castle with his son because nobody liked him taking all their money to buy his expensive clothes and fancy food.' Lucien closed the book, after Alice had told him about Lucie-Jean he had fashioned a frame with green glass in it so she could follow any stories he read. She was much happier and learning fast, keeping up with most of the other children in her class, and even passing one or two others.

'Dinner's ready.' Jean called from the kitchen, 'mummy's on her way, Lucie-Jean.'

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So this is a bit of a tenuous Blake story, and an unlikely diagnosis of Irlen's Syndrome, though I did manage it with one of my pupils.


	17. A rook, a key and a clock

Well, it would appear year 6 are being given a picture or other prompt o write a story of not less than five paragraphs each week. The first picture is of a rook on top of an old clock, with a key on a chain in its beak. This the story I got from that.

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"Honestly! There it was," she wrapped her hands round the tea cup a trying to reassure herself she wasn't dreaming, "on top of the old clock. You remember the one, it stopped and couldn't be got going again."

"But what's it doing in the attic?" Lucien poured himself another cup of tea, "I mean, surely it should have been thrown out. And how did the bird get in there?"

"Heaven knows, maybe you thought you would have a use for it, though goodness knows what. As for the bird, I have no idea, unless a slate came loose in last week's storm." She sighed and drained her cup. "Anyway, I've left Matthew to get someone in to deal with it, but it could explain the scratching noises we could hear."

"Indeed," he mused, "but how did it get there?" he drifted off into his own thoughts.

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 **Earlier that day:**

"Matthew, is that you?" she called down, hearing the door go and his familiar tread accompanied by the thud of his walking stick. "I'm in the attic!"

Her voice was accompanied by the thump of a small suitcase hitting the landing floor, "I do wish Lucien would let me store these in the back bedroom, nobody uses it. Oh!"

In the attic, Jean jumped back, eyes wide in astonishment. There, perched on an old clock, the one from the studio that had stopped; never to go again; shortly after Lucien had returned to Ballarat, was a bird. It looked like a rook, and in its beak it had a small gold key on a chain.

Jean rarely backed away from any task that needed doing, but rounding up a stray rook that had somehow got into the attic was one task she felt she was not up to. Of course that might have something to do with the fact she had a train to catch, if she was going to meet her husband in time to get to the theatre in Melbourne.

"Jean?" Matthew's voice floated up through the loft hatch, "you ok?"

"Yes, there's a bird up here, with a little gold key in its beak," her head appeared at the top of the ladder, "I've no idea how it got in, or how long it's been here."

"Odd," Matthew scratched his head, "what are you going to do?"

"Me?" she climbed down the ladder, stopping to pull the hatch cover over it. "I'm off to Melbourne, remember, Lucien has tickets to a concert. I need to get going or I'll miss the train. It must have been here all week, that's how long we've been able to hear a strange scratching sound."

"Ri i ight," he muttered, "want me to get someone in?"

"Oh, Matthew, would you?" she smiled sweetly, "I'd be grateful. When we come back I'll get Lucien to help me sort the attic out, there'll be droppings over all the things there."

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The concert, a set of Strauss waltzes and polkas was, in Jean's words 'divine'.

"I do love a waltz, Lucien," she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm as they left the theatre and headed to their hotel.

"Do you? Well then..." he turned her round and proceeded to waltz her down the street, giggling and shrieking, embarrassed, as people pursed their lips and shook their heads at this overt display of romance by two people who were old enough to know better.

"Thank goodness," she gasped as they reached the front of the Windsor, "thank goodness we're not at home." But her eyes were shining with happiness and love.

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There was a note on the kitchen table, from Matthew.

"Bird gone, loose slate repaired. M."

"Oh, must've come loose in the storm last week," Jean mused as she put the kettle on; railway tea got worse, she thought.

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"Tell you what, Jean," Lucien slid the last of the cases down the ladder, "put 'em in the garage; we might need the room, if we get any more lodgers, or Mattie comes home."

"Right, well at least they'll be easier to get at, there," she piled the cases to the side ready to be taken down and climbed the ladder to help him sort out the rest of the things that both he and his father had stored up there, just in case!

"There's the clock, " she pointed, "pass it over, it can go in the bin."

Lucien cautiously stepped over to the clock, unsure as to whether the floor would hold his weight. He laughed,

"I remember this old thing," he turned it round in his hands, "it used to chime the quarter hours, damn thing was a nightmare." He passed it back to her. She gingerly held it by the foot, avoiding touching the bird droppings that adorned it, and put it to one side to take out when they had finished.

"There's a lot of mother's things here," his voice took on a sadder tone, "hey, what' this? Bloody hell," he breathed, "the music box." He looked around, "now, where's the key?"

He passed the pretty box back to his wife and continued to look for the key. Jean looked over the article in her hands. It needed a good clean but appeared to be black with painted panels; on the lid and on each side. They depicted, what she thought were, eighteenth century scenes of lovers and families. The pie crust edge was gilded, or had been, it was rather badly scraped and much of the gold was missing. Perhaps it could be re-gilded.

Lucien, meanwhile was scrabbling about in the dust, trying to find the key. He shook out a sheet, that covered one of his mother's paintings of his father, unfinished, he noted. Something clattered onto the floor, he looked round, there it was, the key, still on its chain. He picked it up and polished it on his cardigan, Jean rolled her eyes.

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Music box, unfinished paintings and a very sad old teddy bear aside, everything else was deemed rubbish and to be taken out to the bins. The paintings would remain in the attic, the box and bear would be taken downstairs to be cleaned and repaired. Jean held the bear by its ear and hoped it would clean, and that she had a couple of buttons to replace the missing eyes.

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Lucien sat in the study, tinkering with the music box while Jean prepared the evening meal. It would just be the two of them tonight, Matthew was, apparently, working on a case. They both knew the 'case' was a certain lady pathology registrar he was rather smitten with.

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"I think I've got it working," he mumbled through a mouthful of rabbit stew, "mum used to run it and dance with me in her arms, when I was a babe," his eyes filled with tears.

Jean reached over and touched his arm, "I'd love to hear it," she whispered, tenderly, "perhaps, after dinner..?"

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Dishes washed and dried, sherry and whisky poured, Lucien brought the music box out into the living room and sat it on the sideboard. He wound it up and lifted the lid. The strains of the waltz from Lehar's 'The Merry Widow' tinkled though the room and he held out his hand to his wife...


	18. A life owed

This week's picture challenge is of a lake with a rock and small hut. The story takes place by Matthew's bed as he recovers from the operation to save his leg.

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Dr Blake dozed in the chair next to Superintendant Lawson's bed, dreaming of a time long ago, when they were just boys:

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The early morning mist hung like a soft blanket over the reds, greens and golds of the trees, and the mirror like surface of the lake. There was no sound, no bird song, no shuffling of the wind through the leaves, all was still, until...

CRASH!

RATTLE!

"Last one in's a wombat!"

"Blake! Wait!"

SPLASH!

Aargh!

SPLASH!

Wow!

Two boys, one with wild, blond curls, the other with thick, almost black, waves, laughed and splashed, swam and dived in the cold water.

This had to be the best thing about coming home from boarding school, meeting up with his mate, Matthew, and being here, where they were free to just be boys with no responsibilities and no worries.

There was a rock, someway from the shore, that stood above the water line, atop of which stood a small wooden hut. Their aim, each time, was to swim up to and around the tiny island without being seen by the occupant of the hut. Nobody seemed to know who he was. He had built the hut himself, a simple, neat shelter; half of which was an open verandah; and the whole thing balanced on a smaller, but solid, base. The only way to get to the shore of the lake, if you wanted to stay dry, was by the small canoe, secured to the side of the base. The short flight of steps, which must have taken some carving out, was the only way down to the water.

The blond boy, Lucien, was first to the rock, laughing as he waited for his friend to catch up.

"Bit slow this morning, Matthew," he grinned, before diving down then coming up on the other side coughing and spluttering.

"I'm not planning on drowning myself," Matthew scoffed, "and I don't think mum will be too happy if I go home without you, or your dad."

The boys, deciding they were not going to get a reaction from the man they had dubbed Hermit Harry, swam back to the shore and rubbed themselves down with rough towels, then skimmed stones before investigating the picnic Mrs Lawson had kindly packed for them. Knowing they had healthy appetites she had packed sausage rolls, biscuits and sandwiches, all homemade. Lucien knew Matthew's family were not well off, but somehow his mother could always send them off with a good supply of food and a flask of tea.

"This is the life," Lucien sighed, flinging himself onto the grass, "wish I didn't have to go back."

"You'd be on your own, then," his friend laughed, "I go to school as well, y'know."

"Yeah, guess so," Lucien huffed.

They lay like that for a while, musing on what life would be like when they were grown and had responsibilities.

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Lucien leapt up, having decided they had lain about for long enough, "come on, lazybones, race you to the rock!"

"You'll get cramp!"

"Nah!" Lucien crowed and ran into the water, squealing as the cold enveloped him.

Matthew stood and watched, shaking his head. "Idiot."

Lucien disappeared below the water line ... Matthew waited ... and waited.

He swore and ran into the lake, diving down to see where his friend was, sick with panic, he couldn't hold his breath that long.

There he was, struggling, a stray piece of rope round his ankle, his blue eyes wide with fear. Matthew pushed down and grabbed his leg, holding it still while he forced the rope to slide off his friend's ankle and over his foot. It seemed to take an eternity but he managed it and they burst up coughing and spluttering, gasping for air. Matthew, less breathless, but only slightly, pulled Lucien to the rock and dragged him up to lie on it and they lay there sucking in lungful after lungful of life giving air.

"Shoot!" Matthew gasped, "don't ever do that again, please."

"No," gulp, "worries," gulp, "mate," Lucien gasped, his chest still heaving. "You saved my life, Matthew," he held out his hand, "one day, I'll repay you."

"Oy!" a shout from the hut startled them, "you stupid idiots!"

The boys scrambled to their feet and stared at the owner of the voice. He was tall and thin, with a shaggy, greying beard and untamed hair, in need of a cut. His clothes, a shirt and trousers of khaki canvas were old, badly mended in places and they hung off his bony frame.

"Sorry, sir," Lucien coughed, "I got stuck, some rope... I just need a rest, then we'll be gone."

"I've been watching you," the man snapped, "taking risks, stupid risks, jumping into water when you can't see the bottom. You wouldn't be the first to be dragged out, dead!" He put some force into the last word, aiming to scare them. "I don't want the police and whatnot snoopin' round here. Now, hop it, and don't let me catch you near here again. This is my rock..." he left the threat hanging in the air.

Matthew tugged his friend's arm, it wouldn't be just the police snooping round, it would be Lucien's father, he was the police surgeon.

"Think you can make it back, Blake?" he whispered, "if we go slowly."

"Yeah," Lucien was still staring at the place the apparition had been standing, "yeah," he turned, "come on, let's go."

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A moan woke Lucien from his dream. He looked towards the hospital bed where Matthew lay, the frame holding the blankets off his smashed knee. Pushing himself stiffly out of the chair he went and stood over his friend, "How're you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Dreadful," Lawson lifted the covers and looked under the frame, "still there, then?"

"Done my best, old friend," Dr Blake patted his shoulder, "up to you now, but..."

"Yeah, gonna be crook for a while," Matthew sighed and flopped back onto the pillow. "Thanks, for what you did."

"Well, I did say," Lucien smiled, " I owed you my life, perhaps bit by bit..?"

"Blimey, that was a long time ago."

"It was, wasn't it."


End file.
